MOONGATE BECKONS WHEN THE CANVAS SLEEPS
by gossipweaver
Summary: What can be more cruel… purposely arranging two people from two different worlds, to cross paths, meet, fall in love, only to part ways… Oliver's story from 'The Boy Next Door.'
1. In Search Of The Shoreline

**Chapter 1 In Search Of The Shoreline**

Summary:

_What can be more cruel… purposely arranging two people from two different worlds, to cross paths, meet, fall in love, only to part ways…_

**Moongate Beckons When The Canvas Sleeps** picks up Oliver's story from **The Boy Next Door**.

**_A/N: Oliver was one of the four main characters in The Boy Next Door, Part 3 of My Guardian Angel series. His role as Ginny's unlikely soul mate was based on his relationship with Yuriko Nanikawa, a muggle girl who left him, apparently having succumbed to the pressure from her father, who discovered Oliver to be a wizard. Here is his story. _**

Oliver had forgotten how long he had stood along the aisle leading to the only functional lavatory, waiting wastefully for what felt like a rare visit to the King's throne. The line was inhumanely lengthy, largely because the plane was an hour before landing, and all his fellow passengers had elected to preserve time, choosing to go now instead of at the airport.

As the current occupant of the throne continued to linger, Oliver eyed the line of disgruntled faces behind him. He had a distinct sensation they were collectively staring at him piercingly, but he was not about to feel guilty for being in first position. Admittedly, he had always enjoyed being in first place, even for events as trite as this. However, his victory feeling was slightly marred by the sight of a little boy standing next to him, grimacing anxiously by his mother's knees.

Glancing at his jolly surroundings, the crowded airplane was overwhelmingly noisy, with all strains of competing sounds tightly knitting the dry cabin air, the roaring voices of his fellow passengers expressing their alarming joy and excitement, when they realized they were an hour away from landing, concluding what had been an excruciating flight from Osaka to London. Judging by the excitement, it was obvious to him that everyone definitely had someone to look forward to at the airport gates: a girlfriend, a father, a wife, or a daughter, waiting eagerly for them, so they could reunite and catch up the time that was lost.

_"SWOOSH…"_ the sound cracked through the door, but it remained stubbornly closed. Oliver glimpsed at the boy again. His thighs were now tightly entangled and his hands were pressing deeply into his abdomen, with his mother guarding him pleadingly. The image of the boy's face turning pink somehow numbed Oliver's bodily functions.

It wasn't like he really had to go, Oliver reasoned as he patiently trampled his way back just as the lavatory door opened, to the delight of the urgent little boy. Unlike the other passengers, Oliver was in no hurry. He could go at the airport. He did not anticipate anyone waiting for him at the arrival gates anyway, so he was in no hurry to rush. After all, he had isolated himself for such a long time from his old friends, neighbors, and teammates, and secretly working in Hogwarts as a teacher's assistant last year.

As irrational as his decision to temporarily work in Hogwarts was, Oliver had been hiding in search of a new future, after his fiancé left him without explanation. Oddly, running away and the inability to bear physical pain were uncharacteristic. They were contrary to what he always believed himself to be, a tough resourceful survivor with a boundless competitive spirit, but his faith in himself was shaken when symptoms of his mysterious illness began to surface; he was broken beyond repair, lonelier than dust, and spiraling on the brink of collapse. It was hard to reconcile for him at first, because he couldn't attribute his grave condition to the many manly injuries he suffered as a Quidditch player over the years. To his surprise discovery, he was suffering from a new injury, one he had never imagined himself being hurt by.

After successfully clawing his way back to his section, Oliver's eyes unconsciously tumbled onto the two passengers that had been sitting behind him. They had been sweet-talking to each other sickeningly from the beginning. In a rippling moment of turbulence, Oliver couldn't avoid but visualize himself in them, because he was, once upon a time, just like them too, him and Yuriko, basking under the spotlight that was the center of attention.

All his teammates and friends knew Yuriko, because during their seemingly brief time together, they were inseparable. After he revealed to her the truth about him being a wizard and a professional Quidditch player, she shockingly became his permanent supporter and loudest fan. It was a surprise for him that she liked Quidditch and was comfortable being around wizards and witches whizzing in the air with their brooms, even though she had no knowledge of his world prior to knowing him.

Yuriko gave his teammates a lasting impression when she made him propose on his knee in front of them. As expected, everyone was sympathetic towards him when she abruptly left him soon after, but he was convinced it was his deteriorating performance that was the sole reason leading him to resign. Inexplicably, his eyes would be consistently searching for her shadow in the audience stands instead of watching for the incoming Quaffle. He excused himself from the team before the world finals, citing a back injury, and walked away, illogically giving up a promising career in professional Quidditch.

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Oliver decided he had absorbed enough of their graphic display when the man began to slurp his girlfriend's ear. He carefully navigated to his crammed window seat, mindful of his blond hair neighbor, who had been sleeping quietly the entire flight. Had it not for her silky breathing, Oliver swore he was sitting next to a corpse for the past uncountable hours.

_"00:55:42…"_ displayed his blue entertainment screen in front of him, confirming the flight was entering its final hour. He still had one hour left of his past to deal with. What else could he do but once again dwell on his memories…

Thinking back, Oliver would paint the journey of last year as like he was swimming away from familiar territory. Submerged in the dark borderless ocean, he would find himself searching for a new location that would give him peace and distance, preferably the opposite corners of the seas, only that the new shoreline continued to elude him no matter how faithfully he swam. The frigid waves kept pushing him back, with each one more powerful than the last, the waves acting like memories, soaking every crater of his skin. Numb with cold in the water, he would succumb to the waves and be washed backwards, back to the place where everything begun, a place he was trying desperately to escape from.

He never knew it was possible that a person could live like this. He was a body without a heart, wandering blindfolded in the present time. His chest was nothing more than an empty cavity of muscles; his heart had detached itself from his body as it continued to be tortured in yesterday's time zone.

In the end, it was an epiphany when he realized he had to resign his position at Hogwarts. Seeing the bold success of Ginny reuniting with Harry, he concluded he must come out of hiding to search for Yuriko, to find out the truth as to why she left him so suddenly. It was the reason why he headed to Osaka. He understood her father had forbade her from marrying him after finding out he was a wizard, but he believed what they had could withstand this obstacle, until she abandoned him at the train station when they planned to run away, leaving behind only a scatter of words and her engagement ring in an envelope.

It appeared Oliver's entertainment screen had short-circuited in the midst of his thoughts. Replacing the solid blue background and the digital clock countdown was now a faint image trying to clarify itself. His screen must be malfunctioning, he groaned to himself, because his neighbor's display was unaffected. Studying it closely, the image began to spool from the digital snow, shaping itself into a rainy scene of rooftops as it began to play without command. Clearly, it was not from the many suffocating romance movies that were showcased for this flight. Instead, the actor in the clip was familiar but disappointing; it was of him standing shakily at Yuriko's doorstep, his finger tenuously positioned at the doorbell.

Even though the clip had no audience, it had not ceased to play, as the Oliver in the screen finally summoned the courage to ring the doorbell.

_"Ring…"_


	2. Passwords In The Rain

Chapter 2 Passwords In The Rain

_Summary: The tapping sounds of rain seem to be language that only his ears can understand…  
_  
As a spectator of himself, Oliver was now able to examine all the subtle details that had enclosed him that day. By his side was an unusual veil of mournful still air accompanied by an array of gentle diagonal raindrops, decorating what normally should be a vibrant city street.

_"Nanikawasan… moved…"_ Oliver's eardrums could still vibrate every nuance of the man's dithering voice in slow motion, as he employed his disjointed English to send him away from what was no longer Yuriko's doorstep.

Watching the dark scene from a distance, Oliver's mind was comparatively less entangled with the bad news than before. Even though the rain was determined, it was unable to shield the old man's unsteady face that appeared to have intelligent dialogue dying to come out but was apparently hampered by the language barrier. Could it be that he had been expecting a visit from a brown haired white foreigner with an earring all this time?

_"Please sir! Tell me how I can find her. I'm a friend of the daughter… Her name is Yuriko… I come from very far… from England…_

_"I. Really. Need. To. Speak. To. Her… Please…"_ Oliver could picture himself pointing and gesturing mulishly, pushing his message through the curtain of rain.

_"Daughter Nanikawa…"_ the man sighed into a laborious grimace, seemingly wishing to assist the foreigner he had been expecting, but helpless to do so. Leaning into the screen, Oliver could spot waves of sympathy swirling in the man's charcoal deep eyes that unfortunately would conclude their communication. He bowed slightly and politely closed his door.

_"Wait! Please!"_ Oliver advanced fruitlessly to the door that was already closed, leaving him alone with the somber still air and lifeless street.

Frustrated but with a slight quiver of hope, he dug at his pocket and hastily retrieved the Amoré Ginny had given him, hoping the locket would point him to the direction of his love, just like the way it helped Ginny locate Harry in St. Mungo's Hospital. As he eagerly pressed the button to release the shiny cover, his quiver was silenced when he watched the needle spin listlessly inside its glass casing. He remembered it was never like this when Ginny had it in her clutches. It was as if the needle was in a drunken state, unable to pin itself down in a decisive manner. Despite him circling his steps to all directions, hoisting the locket high into the rain, filling his mind with pages and pages of Yuriko's images, the mysterious needle was still unable to give him his definitive answer. Without its guidance, he would not be able to find her in this foreign land.

_"Maybe the magic doesn't work when it's outside of England,"_ he murmured disappointedly as he snapped it back into his pocket.

Trudging aimlessly away from the doorstep, the downcast clouds would fittingly crack open. No longer diagonal, the rain was now pouring in bricks and pounds, the intensity matching the exponential disillusionment weighing down his feet, as a result of his failed mission. Each brick of water would strike symbolically all over his face, perhaps fulfilling his need to feel his tears, because they knew his eyes were too stubborn to cry. The sounds of water sheets scaling off the edges of each rooftop would take turns singing to his ears, keeping him company as he continued along the wintry unfamiliar pavement, motoring laboriously with no direction, too empty to feel the chill from his water soaked clothes and shoes.

_"Oliver…"_ a tuneful voice suddenly echoed, but he was too disconsolate to notice; the sound was too faint to register.

_"Olive… Olive… Wooden… Tree…"_ the rain tapped into a soulful arrangement of notes, stringing into a playful melody, one he was too familiar with to not recognize, because the phrase was exactly what came out of Yuriko's lips the day he introduced himself to her. He immediately halted his steps and cocked his head up, forcing his eyes to protrude into his unforgiving surroundings.

_"Yuriko?"_ he muttered uncertainly, wiping the water off his eyes and peering outward as far as possible.

_"Oliver…_

_"Please…_

_"Forget… about me…"_

The rain appeared to be chanting to him, the mellow tone somehow bearing an eerie resemblance to Yuriko's silky voice.

He could suddenly sense her presence around him for some reason. Virtually convinced she was nearby but blinded by the rain, he stretched out his arms wishfully, digging into the air, hoping to touch her again.

_"YURIKO! WHERE ARE YOU?"_ he screamed chokingly into the rain without question and fear, his mouth awash with water spilling from the heavens.

It was as if the rain was becoming angry with him for his wall of defiance; it naturally invited powerful thunderbolts to join them. Like fragments of a broken mirror, they would reflect all angles of furious light into the lonely air.

_"Oliver, please…_

_"Leave… me…"_ the same voice sliced through the waterfall, but with a melancholic pleading pitch this time.

_"NO!"_ he roared back ragingly. There would absolutely be no compromise in his search for her. His knees were adamant too, ready to mount its offense against the crescent flood.

The piercing thunderbolts intensified in response, seemingly punishing him, targeting the neighboring ground around him with precision, but he still refused to give up. However mad and unbelievable everything was, he set his doubts aside; he was certain she was near.

_"YURIKO, I LOVE YOU…"_ he shouted uncontrollably, not knowing what else to do, except hoping his voice could carry him to her.

_"WHERE ARE YOU?_

_"YURIKO…"_

There was no response. He was certain he screamed as loud as he could, and if she was nearby, she should hear him, because the blazing thunder and rain inexplicably lost their velocity in the process.

Taking advantage of the relatively quieter surroundings and clearer vision, he cried her name again as he raced ahead, but the street was as empty as ever. There were no signs of her or anyone present.

Suddenly, from the corner of his view, he spotted something ghostly white spinning on the gray pavement, cutting through the puddles, the wind current steadily guiding it towards him, as if it was meant for him. As he turned to check, he noticed it was an abandoned white umbrella, still in its opened position, rotating enigmatically like a single chariot wheel, the handle dancing merrily on the ground. His eyes tracked its trajectory until it was intertwined cozily at his feet.


	3. The Ashes Of Love

**Chapter 3 The Ashes Of Love**

_Summary: In this busy metropolis, a walk of no more than a hundred steps is an encounter of no less than a hundred faces that are just like his… faces covered with the ashes of love… lonely shadows that do nothing but provide company for the other lonely shadows…_

"Sir," A friendly woman's voice echoed.

"Sir…" she repeated, gently nudging Oliver's shoulder, waking him up from his trance. The pop in his eyes was explosive, along with his gyrating body.

"What?" he panted loudly and focused at the flight attendant, busily piecing together what was going on and why he felt like he was, one seconds ago, in a weightless galaxy, one that was really wet and rainy to be exact.

"I'm sorry sir," she replied guardedly, taking a step back in response to Oliver's odd behavior, whom she perceived to be an unstable passenger. "Do you… require… assistance leaving the cabin?"

Oliver rubbed his eyes. The blue screen had stopped playing his movie. Through his misty window, he saw a faint image of the dark cement ground and glimmers of light aligning all the complicated pathways. His sleeping neighbor had already left, along with the rest of the passengers. Indeed, the plane had landed safely. The last hour of his past had passed peacefully, and he had spent all of it by emerging himself in his sleepy recollection of what happened that day at Yuriko's doorstep.

_"Please let this be the final time I dream about that rainy day… and…_

_"Let me… forget…"_ he begged to his determination.

As tough as it was for Oliver to conclude, he knew it was time to start his new life, a life without Yuriko, no matter how impossible it seemingly was. His mission of searching for her had failed. He uncovered nothing worthwhile in Osaka except for the ghostly white umbrella.

_"From this moment on, I must move on… and… forget about… the girl named… Yuriko Nanikawa…"_

"Sir…" the flight attendant repeated worriedly, interrupting his swirling thoughts.

"Sorry, I'm… fine," he stood up sheepishly. "I guess… I got… too comfortable earlier."

She grinned awkwardly, "Don't forget to take all your belongings with you when you leave the plane."

Oliver nodded and she walked away, leaving him in his silence as he reached for the luggage door atop the passenger seats. Just as he snapped the handle open, the ghostly white umbrella quickly tumbled out from inside, jumping automatically into his arms as if it had a life of its own. What followed immediately afterwards was Yuriko's tuneful voice humming in his head:

_"Rain is good for you, Oliver… According to my astrological assessment, you represent wood. You are like a healthy tree, and the rain will always give you nourishment… and keep you cool…"_

He remembered vaguely she once babbled this nonsense to him. Of course he never bothered to understand what she meant. All he knew was that she was always obsessed with analyzing elements related to nature, especially the rain. She once compared raindrops to lingering love, and said rainy days were romantic only when she was with him. At the sight of the enigmatic umbrella, images of the many rainy strolls they shared under one together began to sadly play again:

_"I don't understand you women! It must be too many fluffy movies or something. Always associating special meanings to things like rain! Must we always have to take a stroll every time it pours?"_ Oliver recalled complaining to a giggling Yuriko as he struggled with the umbrella along the London sidewalk, making sure she was fully shielded.

_"But Oliver, this --IS-- romantic!"_

She gazed into his brown eyes and muttered endearingly, _"You… me… under an umbrella…_

_"It's all I ever need…"_

In a hasty attempt to silence the humming and the slight heat needling in the corner of his eyes, Oliver tossed it back inside and abruptly retrieved his backpack. He ruthlessly slammed the cabinet door shut and began to march away, determined to leave his memories behind, but the melody of images in his head only became crisper, despite the growing distance between him and the hurtful reminder locked behind the door from that day.

_"You… me… under an umbrella…_

_"It's all I ever need…"_

Oliver stopped. His feet were taking orders from his heart now, and his knees were turning back without effort. The humming was now rippling like a lament, playing at his heartstrings, and he knew he could never leave what they had behind. As unusual as its origin was, the umbrella would somehow become one of those mementos he could not let go of, just like the rain chain and the wind chime she had given him, no matter how hard he tried.

aaa

From the airport to the connecting train station, Oliver's steps were slow and without purpose, knowing he had nowhere to go. It was as if he was sleepwalking through the fog, his numb arms no more than just an unnecessary enhancement, his hair disheveled carelessly, venturing on a journey without a map. With nothing but the gentle breeze guiding him along his path, he wondered how he could pass his days and nights without her by his side. Thankfully, his brain was still pulsating marginally. He could still remember the location of his old neighborhood and the building that housed his flat, a place he abandoned so suddenly this past summer.

He stepped out of the familiar train station with his luggage. Under the nightly skies, everything was the same since the last time he was here. Welcoming him were the tacky and blinding neon signs, the freezing voices of strangers, and the twisted stench of remnants of cigarette smoke and beer entangling the air that irritated his eyes to suddenly water. Oddly, despite all the people and voices close to him, he never felt more distant and alone. He could hear the sounds of fireworks as he walked along his way, reminding him it was New Year's. Checking his watch, it was well past midnight already. Everyone was cheering at the celebrations except him.

It was time to turn the corner, the winds behind his sails whispered quietly to him at the arrival of the fire hydrant as they steered him to the proper direction. A comparatively quiet and dark winding street stood in front of him now, illuminated by a fragile streetlight next to a signpost that indicated it was a one-way street. Beside the post was a blurry shadow, belonging to a person he had met before.

Oliver looked up and recognized her. Just like the last time, he didn't reach the count of a hundred steps before running into her. The same fragile streetlamp would light up her sleek auburn hair and murky eyes behind glossy makeup that failed to mask the ashes on her face. In his mind, she was a girl with no face, only facial features, thanks to the layers of ashes. She didn't possess a name either, and according to her, he didn't have one as well. For her, he simply bore the title of, "Pretty Boy."

A sense of déjà vu was clocking in Oliver's head. He was wondering why he would always run into this nameless girl every time he was feeling his worst. The first time they met was the night when Yuriko abandoned him at the train station. At the time, she was like his temporary drug; he momentarily regained his will after their intimate encounter. He remembered he hadn't thanked her for her efforts, because she was already gone before he woke up the next morning.

Oliver approached her with his luggage. His shadow followed diligently, and strands of it instantly intertwined with hers under the flickering streetlight, as if they had a life of their own, weaving themselves into another familiar but somber song.

She smiled suavely, letting her eyes do all the intimate touching as they painted her pretty boy up and down absorbingly, taking a brief break at the familiar broomstick. She had stopped pondering about its importance. It was not her business to ponder about him and his details. He was not her business. Keeping her downcast head tilted discreetly, she didn't want him to see her face. She wanted to at least have this as her only source of mystery for him.

"You… remember me?" asked Oliver emptily, inching closer so their similar shadows could finally join as one.

His were the last spoken words they shared. Their only source of light, the streetlamp, flickered away. Just like a curtain at the end of a performance, darkness would engulf them, letting their shadows to plow into each other laconically, so she could take him beyond the limits of space and time again…


	4. An Imprint From A Stranger

**Chapter 4 An Imprint From A Stranger**

_Summary: Theirs was a brief but intimate encounter, and by chance, they would meet again. For him, she is his temporary escape from reality, but for her, he represents a long lasting reminder of what she longs to have as her reality…  
_  
A glimmer was ready to peek through Oliver's window behind the sheer flowing curtain, spiking her tired eyes with the intensity of a needle. She squinted, only to have another piece of sunlight reflecting back at her clairvoyantly from the mirror in his bedroom. Channeling powerfully from everything that had a glint of shininess, his belt buckle, the doorknob, and the face of the clock, it was as if all the light was aiming at her, commanding her to go, and leave the boy alone, but a force inside her just wanted to savor his warmth a little longer.

Similar to the last time they were together like this, her eyes refused to peel away from him. He was sleeping next to her, with a face that was at peace. The bath they shared last night apparently worked, because his mind and body seemingly had successfully expelled the pain and struggles that were hurting him merely hours ago.

She realized she had willingly ceded control of her eyes, allowing them to study him freely. The goal was to form an impression of his every detail and angle. Her nostrils widened too. His scent would provide the colors of the deep imprint.

Comparing it with the imprint from the past, he hadn't changed at all. His demeanor, while very laconic, was once again easily betrayed by the fire of emotion pulsating underneath his skin. His grip was recklessly angry, but his muscles still managed to restrain themselves mindfully throughout the night, not allowing them to take their embedded frustration on her.

The only thing that changed was his ring. Repressing the urge to know the reasons why, he was now wearing it around his finger instead of around his neck.

She cast her eyes on his reddened cheeks, colors which were the remnants of a few wordless drinks. She leaned closer and wondered which part of his face she had not kissed yet. When the murkiness in her eyes cleared away slightly, she could almost believe that even a bad girl on the fringe of society like her could harbor a small ounce of goodness, and as a result, capable of feeling good about herself… and doing good for others…

… at least… for one brief night…

He was still asleep, she observed touchingly as she continued to avoid the sunlight. Her eyes were now framing the curvatures of his earlobe and the small earring as her yearnings let out a loud roar; they were becoming needy. Illusions were invading her reality with nonsense and dreams about being able to wake up next to someone like him everyday, muttering tender words to her, every night… were getting louder…

It was not to be. It would never be. She could never go back. She zipped up her aching heart and abruptly breathed in the portraits of the impossible, silencing the foggy fantasies nonchalantly as she got out of his bed and trudged to his mirror.

It was clear he doesn't belong in her loveless shadowy world of discarded souls. As a numb but experienced player, she had acquired an instinct for this. Normally, she wouldn't care about the people that crossed her path, being what she was, a faceless scavenger hunting dangerously for the latest hot blooded body to keep herself warm for the night, someone to anchor her shadow with so she would not be blown apart by the winds.

She understood the game well; the feeding of the hunger for lust and flesh must conclude when the sun rises and the willing players must go before the yearning for true love would kick in. What she didn't understand was how she ended up left behind in this world for so long, and why it was still so tough to erase all the fingerprints of meaningless strangers and pretend that all those nightly encounters did not take place…

_"But the night with him last summer... why are his fingerprints from that night still on my body... Why I could not rinse them off…_

_"And now, I've been with him twice..._

_"Why…"_

"It's because pretty boy's not like the others," a little voice in her head debated solidly. "Isn't it obvious? You never forget pretty faces!"

Maybe that was why she returned to him last night even though there were so many other new and warm desolate bodies out there for her. Knowing the rules of the game, she wasn't supposed to revisit old shadows. The risk of being emotionally attached was too high. Perhaps it was due to her wanting to protect him from the others, who she suspected would automatically dismantle him and steal his soul, turning him into one of them.

She reasoned that he only ventured into her world because he momentarily lost his way by accident. For her, the ring around his finger was a glimpse into his world, where there would be a life line, a future, with a girl, someone whose origins were deeply rooted inside him, starting with the ring. He must be dreaming about her now, because she noticed he was grinning slightly.

"You're a man of a few words," she smiled to his small sleeping reflection next to hers. She was glad, because exchanging words would risk her to fall in love with him. She didn't want to get to know him. That was not what her purpose was. She was convinced it was purely physical. He successfully answered her needs last night.

"But what about the next night," she sighed bleakly as she focused on her own reflection. It was not a surprise that staring back at her was an image she didn't want to see, an ash-filled face, one of shattered dreams, with no future, and having hers next to his just mockingly magnified the deep contrast between them. They were simply two very different people.

She must not use him again for his sake. He is too good for her. Her time with him must end now.

"Thanks for last night," she put on her clothes and silently walked out of his bedroom, making a monotonous straight line towards the front door. Before she made her exit, she glanced around his flat one final time. She was convinced she was only making sure she had left nothing behind. At the foot of the doorstep was her purse, resting atop a pile of dated newspapers, organized very neatly. He must have been out of town for a long time, she thought to herself, judging from the thickness of the pile. His broom and luggage were abandoned wildly by the doorway, but the rest of his flat appeared surprisingly tidy for a bachelor. It was as if someone had been taking care of this place the entire time in his absence, but there was no evidence of another person living here.

She quickly picked up her purse and as a distraction, retrieved a cigarette, hoping this would stop her curiosities, an ability she thought she had lost until it suddenly surfaced during the encounter with him this past summer, and now it was asserting itself once again. She must constantly remind herself it was not her place to ponder about his details. The importance of his broom and why he would always carry one around town was not her business.

"Good luck, pretty boy. I hope I don't see you again… at least… under that lamppost…" she left his flat and closed the door, her shadow quickly disappearing into the dark unlit corridor.

"Please take care of yourself…"


	5. Like A Visit From A Dear Old Friend

**Chapter 5 Feels Like A Surprise Visit From A Dear Old Friend**

_Summary: She hadn't seen him in a while, and she certainly didn't expect to see so much of him all at once this morning, but what she really wanted to see remained hidden…  
_  
With his tired eyelids squinting in battle against the light, they nonetheless would surrender to an array of whitened opaque silence, brightened by patches of sun searing through his curtains from the bedroom window. It was morning already. Staring at the flawless ceiling, Oliver's sore knees somehow began to entangle themselves against the twisted blanket. Guilt was the reason for his misbehaving joints, a little vague voice uttered to him in his head. Honestly, his mind had originally been blank, as pure as the ceiling, but as he clawed himself out of bed to see himself without clothes, details of last night gradually blemished the fibers of his mind. Although the fragmented information came in the form of an incomplete jigsaw puzzle at best, it was enough to let him know what had happened, and why he was sporting a queasy headache similar to the ones after a night of excess drinking.

Retracing yesterday's path, he felt like someone had taken over him as soon as he stepped into the city, as if he was hypnotized, sleepwalking amongst the rowdy crowd, under the New Year's fireworks. And on his way to his flat, he would unwittingly bring that elusive faceless girl with him to spend the night, the same one that would always refer to him simply as, "Pretty boy," even though he insisted he possessed a name, and that people's names were not overrated, contrary to what she thought.

Desperately trying to tuck the guilt away, he reasoned he was clearly not himself twenty-four hours ago. Excessive rubbing of the temples was not going to help him remember this girl, so it was evident he did not engage her intimately enough to absorb her details. However, after spotting so many fingerprints covering his body, he realized he could not use his temporary insanity as the excuse for his reckless behavior. Even though his future with Yuriko was bleak, he still honored his relationship with her. The ring was around his finger and no amount of rationalization could justify his participating in the scenes from last night.

Suddenly, a clicking sound echoed from outside. His mind abruptly quit its circular mumbling so he could assess the noise, which resembled the unexpected opening of his front door, followed by winds of light footsteps. Working against the upward rush of adrenalin, he quickly jolted into his jeans and dashed out of his bedroom to find out who was the unwelcome intruder.

"Oliver! You… You're really back?" a woman garbled with her low alto voice behind her shaky brown hair. She was obviously clutching too many things in her grip to be a threat to his safety: today's newspaper, a blue umbrella, and a set of keys that was rattling loudly across her chest. Like hot butter, her blinking brown eyes skated from his dark stubbly face to his burly chest and abdomen, concentrating themselves briskly at the buckle of his jeans tenuously held together by his hands.

"Prudence!" he gasped spontaneously, with one eye focused on her stillness while the other eye was busy coordinating his hands that were still clumsily buckling up his stubborn jeans. The rattling sounds immediately reminded him that he had given his neighbor a set of his keys not too long ago.

A palette of red brushed her cheeks just in time for her to unglue her undisciplined eyes from Oliver's uncoordinated state of undress.

"I certainly don't mind you shocking me this way every morning," she giggled suavely, her eyes retreating back into their sockets. "No amount of caffeine is going to top this!"

She fanned herself archly with the newspaper, "It's definitely what I need to get the sleep out of my eyes."

Prudence could detect a wave of grunts coming from his mouth. To avoid getting kicked out, she remembered the reason why she had rudely intruded on him. She deposited the newspaper onto the tall pile sitting neatly next to the doorway, purposely taking more time, hoping to give him the needed privacy to tidy himself.

"I kinda figured you were back…" she hollered vibrantly to the face of the newspaper, attending to the section that said today's weather forecast was apparently cloudy and rainy, in stark contrast to the sun blasting outside.

"When I saw glimmers of light coming from your window late last night… and when I noticed your luggage sprawling across the living room just as I came in, I should have--"

"Glimmers of light?" asked Oliver thickly, his mind wheeling in reverse, trying profusely to confirm this detail.

"Yes! Glimmers of light… the kind that shines through your sheer curtains when you turn on the lamp in your bedroom at night!" she croaked incredulously, darting one eye at his bare feet to check whether he was ready for her to look at again.

"Happy New Year, by the way!" smiled Prudence enthusiastically.

"Oh, right. Same to you too."

Prudence was not about to let their conversation end this way, even though she could sense Oliver was in no shape to talk.

"So, big guy, which wind current blew you back to London last night?"

Oliver opened his mouth slightly, but no words were coming out.

"Honestly, where have you been all this time?" she silenced him in a motherly manner. "You just… disappeared… last summer… without saying goodbye! I was about to file a police report for missing persons, and your newspaper subscriptions just kept coming… until Mum stopped me…

"You always tell me before you leave for one of those foreign teaching contracts. Did you come back from one? Which country did they send you this round?"

Oliver was thankful Prudence inadvertently reminded him of the lies he had been telling his muggle friends and neighbors to explain his periodic disappearances from regular life. Teaching English in foreign countries seemed like a reasonable explanation at the time. After all, he couldn't reveal to them that he was a wizard and a professional Quidditch keeper.

"Erm… yes… It suddenly came up and I didn't have a chance to tell you…" he scratched his head apologetically and swiftly changed subjects, carefully organizing his mind to retrieve the facts about his next door neighbor that he hadn't seen in months.

"How's Zoe? How is your Mum? How's your painting thing going?" he blurted all at once.

Prudence rolled her eyes sourly, "Oh, as long as there's Bridge and Mum's gang of bridge buddies, she is doing fantastic. But I can't rely on her to babysit Zoe anymore. She says it's not the job of a grandmother."

"What about your paintings?" he inserted with a tone of surging interest. "You had mentioned about an art gallery competition. Isn't it coming up soon?"

"Oh… that," she replied flatly. "I… you know… still don't have a theme, the topic… for my…"

"What about all those ideas you told me before?"

She sprung upright, seemingly shaking off his question, "Look at the time, Oliver. I'm late for work. Didn't the weatherman say it's going to rain today? Even the paper says it's going to rain. It certainly doesn't look like it though."

"You don't get time off for New Years?" interrupted Oliver, trying to block out all of her rain references.

"You forgot I work at a grocery store? They open everyday!"

She scanned the newspaper pile, "It looks like you have a lot of catch up reading to do."

He shook his head and walked closer, "Thanks for looking after the place for me."

Prudence gathered her eyes towards Oliver, who stringed together a boyish grin, but it was too late. The air between them was already thickened with seriousness all by itself, as if it was letting them know they had exchanged enough pleasantries. It was time to really talk, but her next topic was something he was clearly not ready to discuss.

"Have you heard from… Yuriko?" asked Prudence laboriously as her eyes glided to his neck, searching for the ring that used to hang around his neck.

"You know she… came by… I think… a few months ago… looking for you."

Oliver said nothing. He had expected this. When he was in Hogwarts, his teammates had already told him she had searched for him and asked about his whereabouts.

"I… didn't know where you were at the time," Prudence explained without a break of her low alto pitch, "but… she looked like she had something very important to tell you."

His silence was suffocating, and she bit her lip uncomfortably, "I hope you don't mind… I… let her in your flat."

The saturated air was now mixed with a fog of nauseating unease between the two of them. She felt like she was performing an unrehearsed monologue, while he was determinedly expressing his views by mime.

"Yuriko and I… we didn't talk much, you know… because Zoe was next to me… and I… didn't know what to say…

"She… bought Zoe a book. Actually, Zoe pried it out of her hands to be exact."

"A book?" Oliver finally uttered an audible word.

Prudence nodded, "Ah-huh. It's a novel of Japanese fairy tales written in English. I'll give it back to you later today."

"No need," he sighed between a set of chuckles. "What will I do with a novel? I'm sure your daughter will have better use for it."

The air was so thick it might have lost its ability to carry sound. Believing he had ended their conversation, Oliver proceeded to unzip his luggage, retrieving the ghostly white umbrella he found in Osaka and Ginny's Amoré. Thinking the compass would work now that he was in England, he snapped it open, but to his disappointment, the needle was once again swirling aimlessly just like it was when he was in Japan.

"It must be really broken," he mumbled to himself dejectedly in his own little cloud.

Prudence had fallen out of his radar despite standing merely a handful of inches from him. He was not aware she had been following his heavy steps with her worried eyes, at the same time wondering why she had to care so much. Forgetting he was just her neighbor, she was hoping to peel open his mysterious laconic shell with the same amount of ease as the way he unzipped his baggage seconds ago. But once again, he would bottle everything inside. She hadn't seen him in a while, and she certainly didn't expect to see so much of him all at once this morning, but what she really wanted to see remained hidden. He still could not bare the loud words of trouble sealed inside.

By chance, she could make out piercing sounds of rattling originating from her chest, but strangely, it was not produced by her set of keys. Nevertheless, the sounds somehow ignited a recognizable feeling in her, one that words couldn't describe, except to say that the pleasant sensations were warmly familiar, but definitely unanticipated, like a surprise visit from a dear old friend.

Their eyes inadvertently locked themselves into a steady pause when he emerged out of his world. This was accomplished by having Oliver tilting his head down substantially, because Prudence was always one head shorter than him. Overcoming this physical obstacle was simple; understanding why he was always able to guess her thoughts correctly through the patterns in her eyes was hard. From her look of sisterly concern, Oliver could unscramble the question she was about to pose. A grin flashed across his face.

"Never better!" he closed the Amoré and answered as convincingly as possible, ushering her out. "Go! You'll be late!"


	6. Fantasy's Mirror

**Chapter 6 Fantasy's Mirror**

_Summary: When a children's fairy tale begins to play itself out in real life with uncanny similarities, such is fantasy crisscrossing with reality, and the ending will matter more than ever...  
_  
The passage of time does have mysterious healing powers. Winter thawed into spring methodically at the same speed as the numbness inside him. For Oliver, the arrival of warmer temperatures would help shake the cargo off his shoulders. He could almost claim that yesterday's names have all been shed, and even the most memorable name, the one that used to roast at his heart, was beginning to fade.

As in all angles of life, there are elements of happiness, sadness, successes, and failures. He kept reminding himself that what happened in all those yesterdays was already passed; there was no point to dwell in past failures and sadness. Winning was not crucial for him anymore; he was just grateful he had his health. For him, what was important was to have friends and teammates that cared about him. To his relief, after discussions with his Quidditch team, he was able to reinstate himself for next season, and he would depart as soon as summer would roll in. Life was calmly simple now, at least by day, just like the way he preferred it to be. Making no room for other aspects of life, his mind could now be focused absolutely on the thing that defined him, Quidditch.

At night however, his dreams would take over, painting the darkness of his room with shapes of his undisciplined imagination. He could never see these visions clearly enough; for some reason, the rain chains and wind chime dangling by his window would always wake him up in time before he could explore further.

Tonight was not unlike other evenings. Rainy springs obviously like to repeat themselves, just like Prudence's mother, who had made it a habit to invite Oliver over for dinner. For him, her mother definitely had shades of Mrs. Weasley inside her, minus the shrieking voice. He didn't care though. He was just grateful he didn't have to eat alone, something he despised. On the other hand, she was possibly feeling sorry for him living alone, or perhaps she had other intentions for the lonesome bachelor.

"Oliver, do you have plans for tonight?" Prudence's mother succulently dapped her lips with her napkin.

"No. Why… Mrs. Anderson?" garbled Oliver from across the dinner table.

Mrs. Anderson smiled waggishly, "Good. In that case, can I delegate my responsibility to baby sit my granddaughter onto you?"

Sitting between them, Prudence tightened her chewing teeth to keep the fiery wrath from unleashing, but the glare in her eyes was not to be overlooked. An explanation was in order.

Mrs. Anderson wiped her lips again, "Pru, I made plans tonight."

"Let me guess," Prudence plucked at her potatoes stiffly. "Gambling always comes first with you!"

"That's not true," whisked Mrs. Anderson with authority.

"Mum, you promised yesterday you will be available tonight!" Prudence condemned her with a hard alto voice. "You know I have to head to the gallery. You know I can't take Zoe with me!"

"You can't paint here?" asked Oliver between two bites of chicken.

Prudence shook her head and eyed Zoe helplessly, "It's hard to concentrate here. And I… still don't have a theme for my…"

Oliver laughed, hoping to lighten up the tense air, "Why don't I give you an idea now?"

He suddenly drifted into a poetic story mode, but his breath was clearly that of a comedian, "You see… I had this strange dream last night. I saw… a vision… a huge magnificent crystal white gate as tall as a building… constructed somewhat like an archway, sitting atop… a mountain…"

"What's behind it?" Zoe cut in.

He shrugged his shoulders and glimpsed at the girl menacingly, "I don't know… It's probably… a doorway… to another dimension… maybe a place where they lock up all the children to feed the… night stalker.

"But do not fear. As I see it, the backdrop is very nice."

He scratched his head and glanced across the dinner table, "The place is sort of… decorated by… a deep effervescent horizon, the color of… cream tomato soup…

"The mountain… like dark chocolate pudding… cotton clouds shaped like… a potato...

"And as for the sun…" he forked into the bowl, "it's shaped like… the egg in this salad…

"To get the desired effect on your canvas, Prudence, you might want to mix the color red with…"

He paused after catching Prudence staring at him strangely.

"What's the shock? It's the only way I can describe it!" he flirted with a joking pitch. Sadly, no one was laughing.

"Oliver, you have no idea how difficult it is to be a single parent… the sacrifices along the way…" Mrs. Anderson steered the conversation back to the adult level. "I had ambitions too when I was young, but of course I had to put them aside."

Her subsequent cough preceded a trailing hint of disappointment in her words, "But I never imagined my own Prudence would follow my footsteps with such precision."

Oliver said nothing, but he could feel Prudence's eyes piloting a look of pure resentment, a look that appeared to have surfaced many times before.

Mrs. Anderson darted a furtive eye at Oliver, "Am I crazy to automatically assume that having two parents raise a child…" she turned to Prudence, "will always be… easier?"

Oliver wanted to prevent the discussion from escalating into an argument. He patted Zoe's head, "Pru, she is a good kid. It's no trouble, honest!"

Mrs. Anderson removed herself from the table and headed to the door with a tired sigh, "Oliver teaches children overseas. I'm sure he will do fine."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Prudence asked Oliver worriedly, tapping the table and watching a sneering Zoe.

"You watch my place all summer long, and I eat here almost all the time. I can certainly do this for you."

"Mum, Grandma, I'm old enough to be alone. I'm a solid seven years old," squealed Zoe. "Why do I need a sitter?"

"Zoe, you may be too young to understand but… please don't wish to be alone," Mrs. Anderson lectured philosophically from the doorway. "But then again, there are people three four times your age and still can't grasp the concept.

"All I want you to remember is… don't become like them, Zoe… people who proudly and happily convince themselves and others they have a habit of living alone and need no one in their lives to grow old with."

She glanced at Prudence, "Truly, these are the people who are kidding themselves. These are the people who are really lonely and empty inside."

Fed up with Mrs. Anderson's endless allusions in front of Oliver, Prudence got up from the table and tailed her out the door.

"Zoe! Be good. Don't give Oliver trouble!" Prudence called from outside. "Oliver, you just have to hang around the house. Leave the table as is. I'll clean up when I get back. Send her to bed at nine. You don't have to stay after that."

As soon as the door was shut, Oliver could hear Prudence's alto argumentative voice against her mother's, gradually dissipating as they walked away.

Lounging on the sofa with a complaining smirk, Zoe positioned herself to occupy all the seats she could with her little body.

"Oliver, I'm fine. You don't have to stay with me," she yawned.

Oliver didn't reply; his eyes were curiously feeding on a small book lying casually on the coffee table. He was wondering instantly if this was the book Zoe pried out of Yuriko's hands. He squeezed himself against her stretched toes to sit as the book cover attracted his eyes. The illustration was one of a recognizable Japanese style, but the sketch was eerily similar to the vision he had just described at dinner earlier, except for one standout detail. Under the capitalized title, "Angel Ame," was a minimal drawing of a girl with long black hair underneath an archway.

"It's supposed to be a fairy tale," booed Zoe boringly. "But there are no pictures… too many words... I'm sure you'll have trouble too."

Oliver narrowed his eyes and retrieved the book. He was not about to let a child insult his intelligence.

"We'll see about that."

Zoe snuggled herself generously into a small fetal position to give more sitting room for Oliver, who flipped open the pages and began to read out loud:

_"Prologue – Once upon a time, farmers and villagers diligently worshipped a mysterious goddess every time it rained, thanking her for keeping their healthy crops well nourished. She was known simply as Angel Ame, a term in reference to her gift of rain. Legend has it that the rain showers were really her tears in disguise. They all knew her story, and the story of a handsome young man with a ghostly white umbrella, both in love with each other but separated sadly by a thin line that were the skies, because they came from different worlds…"_

Oliver turned to the first page of the fairy tale:

_"Theirs was a household like everyone else, a middle class young educated couple that was perhaps slightly more detached from their heritage and culture than their parents. Nothing extraordinary was expected when the lady of the house gave birth to an otherwise normal baby girl. As anticipated, the entire experience was without complications. She was the first and only child for the couple, and they gave her a fitting name, Keiko, the loved one._

_"A peaceful week had passed, and it was time to bring little Keiko home. It was a rainy day, the rain so heavy it partially blocked the couple's vision as they approached their door. It was as if she just appeared out of thin air, but hovering by their doorstep stood an old woman slouching over her cane. Her image was blurry and brittle, except her solid eyes. The young father was wary of her presence—"_

"What does wary mean?" Zoe interrupted.

"It means to be watchful and careful… feelings of unease over something unusual or bad. I am like that every time I see you within range."

Zoe spiked his knee with her toe. After he threatened to tickle her feet, she stopped and he continued reading:

_"All the old woman did was point at the baby and recite some kind of foreign language. Then she stated forcefully with a hoarse alerting voice, 'Young couple, your child will turn eighteen and surrender herself to the heavenly forces of nature. The day will come when a messenger from the magic skies will visit and accompany her to her destiny…to fulfill her duties, and… become the next Angel Ame.'_

_"Of course the young couple thought they were listening to words of insanity, coming probably from a homeless woman pretending to be a seer, and requesting money to break the alleged curse she just concocted. However, without further confrontation, the old woman gave them a pitiful look and strolled away. All they could do was to shake their heads perplexedly before quickly stepping inside to avoid getting wet. _

_"Obviously, the father thought nothing further of the bizarre exchange. Like other children, Keiko would grow up and developed her own personality. It was not markedly clear whether she was different from the others. She had her little oddities, but then all children were unique in their own ways so he was not concerned._

_"Keiko had little interest in toys and in things other children were interested in. She did react strangely every time it rained outside, such as stopping whatever she was doing, so she could find the closest window. She would gaze outside obsessively and reached out frantically with her arms on days when she was strong enough to open the window herself._

_"Thinking she loved to admire flowing water, the father decorated the roof with all kinds of rain chains. It never occurred to him she was simply fixated with rain. He didn't understand why one day she ran outside and just stood in the open downpour, while the logical response from other children would be to hide inside to stay dry._

_"Watching Keiko grow up added a lot of joy in the couple's lives. She was poetic and lyrical, and had an intense fascination with random things regarding nature. She impressed her teachers and parents with her explanations for everything, like falling leaves, how every snowflake has a symbolic purpose, and every raindrop has a lingering strand before it falls…_

_"The father no longer thought much of her special interests with the rain, which appeared to have subsided when she became a teenager, but the memory of what happened with the old woman that rainy day did not fade away like his hair. It did not help that his dreams would fill in the details of the woman's message, getting more vivid as Keiko grew older. The complete haunting vision was one with a powerful man emerging from the rainy clouds and steal Keiko away._

_"It was not like him to believe in folklore tales, but he couldn't help but be extra protective of her. He was especially worried as her eighteenth year birthday approached, at the same time becoming more fearful of the rain. The idea of losing Keiko was unimaginable, and the eyes of the old woman still haunted him. Therefore, the day she reached eighteen, he kept a watchful eye on her. To add to his torment or perhaps it was mere coincidence, it was raining on that birthday, although it arrived in erratic squirts and sputters, like a water tap that was about to die. He didn't tell her why she couldn't leave the house on her birthday, but she complied without question, and to his delight, nothing happened._

_"From that day on, he wanted her to have as normal a life as possible. Whatever she requested, he would grant her. He was simply thankful to not lose her and have her as a daughter. Perhaps as a reward to him, the subsequent years passed without incident too. Keiko turned nineteen, and then twenty..._

_"The only thing that was abnormal was the rain. The squirts and sputters, as well as the frequent occurrences of virga were well reported by weather watchers, but the only people that were worried were farmers. Other than that, clearly nothing astronomical was about to happen, and the old woman's conversation was finally discredited, until…_

_"One day the daughter brought a towering young man home. Judging from his appearance, he was obviously a foreigner from a faraway land. To the father, it was evident they were in love, and the visit could be that the handsome man was about to ask for her hand in marriage, but all he did was smile boyishly at every question the father posed. The inexperience in him was thicker than the rice pudding. He asked him what he did for a living, to which he didn't reply. Instead, the young couple exchanged timid stares with each other."_

_"Father, Sen… he… he's not from our world,' the daughter blurted away the out of place silence._

_"Keiko, I can see Sen hails from a foreign land. He has hazel eyes and brown hair,' her father replied with a soothing smile, sensing her daughter's apprehension. 'Keiko, I want you to know… as long as you are happy, your mother and I are happy too. Now tell me what Sen does for a living.'_

Oliver's gut twisted slightly. He was not certain why he was able to guess the next line of conversation as he was reading, until to his surprise, he quickly realized he had witnessed this conversation before, because he was once a part of it. He was once asked by Yuriko's father what he did for a living.

_"Father, you don't understand," inserted Keiko with tears swelling under her eyes. 'Sen… he's not from our world. He… he's a wizard.'_

_"What is it?' asked her mother worriedly._

_"Keiko pulled out what looked like a wooden staff from Sen's pocket. Staring at Sen, she seemingly was communicating a plan with him with her watery eyes. After a prolonged pause, Sen picked up the staff, gave it a wave, and all the contents in the room started to float effortlessly in the air._

_"The father could do nothing but gape in horror. Sitting next to his daughter was not a normal man. Could he be the one… the messenger sent from afar to take his daughter away…"_

The book slipped out of Oliver's hands because of the heavy layer of sweat. He could not pick it up; his mind was short-circuited by the recollection of the fearful stare from Yuriko's father when he revealed to him he was a wizard and a professional Quidditch player. Sitting motionlessly, all he could do was replay the day he was in Yuriko's house. The memories rushed back with no mercy, burning open the wounds that had just healed.

"Yuriko… How… could it… be…" he retrieved the faulty Amoré from his pocket and muttered uncertainly, as his mind began to draw lines of connection, aligning elements of Yuriko's characteristics with the Keiko girl in the story, as well as his with those of Sen. Once again, the locket was not giving him his needed answers. All he could do was stare in anguish at the spinning needle that failed him so miserably back in Japan. The buildup of hate for the useless amulet exploded into his legs.

After the strength in his arms returned, he shakily picked up the book. Wanting to find out the ending of the story alone, he slowly headed to the door with it when…

"Where are you going with my book?" squeaked Zoe.

Oliver turned around and spotted a pair of eyes blinking playfully at him. He had forgotten about Zoe.

"It seems you like the book. I'll make a trade with you. I'll give you the book in exchange for the shiny locket."

It was an easy agreement. He quickly placed the hated amulet in her palm and exited, hoping he could find the page he was at so he could continue reading the story that mirrored so much of his life.


	7. The Wrongs Of Time

**Chapter 7 The Wrongs Of Time**

_Summary: The feelings of time… the heartbeat of time… the victims of time…_

Oliver crashed into the first available place to sit in his flat as soon as he got past his door. The span of time it took to get from Prudence's flat to his seemed to have consumed an entire decade, although the distance was only steps away. Flipping the pages of the book in frenzy, he ultimately gave up finding the spot he was last at. Or perhaps, his curiosity was begging him to just resolve what mattered the most, the fate of his mirror characters. Agreeing with his curiosity, he took a courageous swallow and daringly headed to the final conclusion chapter titled ominously:

"_The Wrongs of Time…"_

_"Resting soullessly in his shriveling quarters like the many days that had passed, Sen was accompanied once again, by four empty walls around him. They stood out conspicuously, a striking of white, almost pallid, but how could something with such a sickly appearance be able to trap him, he whispered to himself. If anything, he felt like he was helplessly left behind inside a prison of endless dreams. The key to unlock himself so he could return to the real world had gone missing. Instead, all he had in his grip was Keiko's ring._

_"The ashen walls must have stolen Sen's energy. They now had a life of their own and would drift continuously, reacting relentlessly with the permanent film of quivering emotions in front of his eyes with the usual potent chemistry. As if they were mocking him, the combination of the mixture would spark a series of sad visions, a replay of the memories from that day, where the band of specters and priestesses accompanied a weeping Keiko away._

_"Trapped inside the dream prison, Sen's heart was twisting achingly over what he could have done differently to change Keiko's fate, agonizing over every sequence of events, and creeping closer to exhausting all the possible outcomes. Wanting to blame himself for the failure, his mind kept getting stuck on one crucial fact, a rationalization that even though he was a wizard, he was held back by his human flesh and blood, and he was no match against the powers of the specters. He unleashed every spell he ever learned on them in front of Keiko and her parents, but he was outnumbered on all sides. It was a short conflict, and in the end and seemingly without effort, they simply immobilized his tired bruised body to the ground._

_"Sen had summoned a life altering breath to beg the priestesses to take him too. He could hear himself talk of giving up his life and sacrificing everything. He realized that them taking her away would symbolically mean them taking away all his purpose for living._

_"The walls were now shining their surfaces to the burning scene where the specters and priestesses were listening to Sen's pleas behind their stoic emotionless masks. He pondered the reason why they were wearing masks. For a moment, he could see one of the priestesses wiping the corner of where he believed her eye was located. The set of carved holes in her mask had let her down; they failed to hide her quivering soulful pupils swimming inside her whitened eyes._

_"Seeing this at the time, he recalled the glimmer of hope quickly washing away all the desperation inside him, thinking that maybe he had convinced her, and she could grant his wish. After all, she was the one who apologized to him for having delayed their journey of descent to take Keiko away. It was the first time he heard of priestesses making mistakes, and he could hear himself chuckle hollowly in between swallows of his own blood, but she definitely did admit they made a mistake._

_"We underestimated the powers of time. Who would have known… our delay of… merely three short years… could have such devastating effects on two beings?' he remembered the priestess say with a dimming voice of deep regret as she released a frozen him from her immobilization spell._

_"You see, Sen,' she explained apologetically, watching him sit up from the ground, 'we live for thousands and thousands of years. It's no excuse but we might have forgotten about our differing concepts of time… that… what feels like three years for you is like three days for us…_

_"I had forgotten about the feelings of time and…' she gazed at his bloodstained chest, 'the heartbeat of time…_

_"What could be more cruel? Our error… would mean giving you the opportunity… having you and Keiko to cross paths, meet, fall in love, only to… part ways in the end.'_

_"Sen could see he didn't have trouble climbing up to his feet from the ground despite all his injuries. It could be the fury inside him that was powering his legs, for his fury was roaring fiercely in tandem with each subsequent word of explanation from the priestess. Surprisingly, he couldn't feel the pain from any of the visible cuts and bruises all over his body. The only source of torture was seeing Keiko's broken gaze, standing soundlessly next to the priestess._

_"Sen watched a stern looking creature with a ghostly white umbrella step ahead of the priestess, seemingly wanting to silence her rueful voice, but she was not deterred from speaking the truth. Her mask managed to smile wanly, 'Sen, we were all… watching you and Angel Ame the entire time… We were all… touched… with what we saw… the two of you… what you shared together... everything you did…_

_"Your sidewalk strolls under the rain… side by side…'_

It was a moment for Oliver to stop reading so he could let the nostalgia sweep over. He was now the sole audience of his very own rain shower strolls with Yuriko. Distantly, he could even hear real echoes of spindrifts splashing on the roads, much like the ones they encountered when they strolled together during those rainy days, tireless seas of fireworks that kept on unleashing. However, he didn't know his bedroom window was open, and the spindrift sounds he was hearing now were simply from cars traveling on wet roads outside.

In time, the reddened veins started to prick Oliver's eyes, reminding him he ought to blink soon, even if it meant having to spill out what was held under those mottled eyelids. Sitting on the pile of dated newspapers at the edge of his doorway that Prudence carefully organized for him since last summer, he couldn't believe he was using the pile as a stool, but then again, there were things in this world more unbelievable than this. For a moment that contained too many heartbeats to count, he took a heavy breath and blinked. He quietly waited for his eyes to settle down before continuing:

_"As soon as we saw you propose marriage,' the priestess reminisced somberly, 'we knew we had to stop you. It is only now that we realized… how late we have been, and the consequences of our mistake.'_

_"Priestess, your delay of three years is not a mistake. I am thankful for your poor time management skills. I am not angry at you. In truth, I'm grateful,' said Keiko lethargically. Her voice sounded dusty, like it was being used for the first time. Nevertheless, shockwaves from her words could be felt in the heads of everyone present, with Sen bearing the brunt of the impact._

_"Sen remembered Keiko gazing at him deeply with glimmers of wisdom that calmed his anger. She was attempting to communicate with him, but he would not back away from his stubborn stand; he refused to accept Keiko's underlying hidden message. He understood Keiko's reasons, but he couldn't agree with her. Three years was too short for him. In fact, any amount of time less than infinity would still be too short for him. What they shared was not supposed to end like this. Unlike Keiko, he could not accept this ending._

_"Every snowflake has a purpose. Even mistakes have their purposes,' Keiko tried again, but Sen shook his head in defiance._

_"The priestess was grateful for Keiko's understanding, and she could hear herself plead to the other caretakers, but she knew she was only prolonging the inevitable, for they were beginning to fizzle away, including herself._

_"Without thinking, Sen leaped towards Keiko, wanting to hold her, but to his horror, she was also disintegrating in front of his eyes. _

_"Sen…' he could hear Keiko's faint voice singing from a pair of clouds of sparkling dust of what used to be her lyrical eyes. It was happening. She was leaving, and her eyes were the first to leave him._

_"Everything was flashing blindingly in distraction, as each of the beings took turns dismantling into the air. The impact from the group's departure appeared to have seized time by surprise, and it came to a screeching mysterious halt, evidently in order to let them catch up. Seizing the opportunity, Sen reached for Keiko's hand, attempting to pull her back, but he was reaching into nothingness. Like a layer of smoke in front of an unforgiving wind gust, Keiko's body would be swept into a scattering of fragmented sparkles. Just as her lips were about to open, his heart skipped a beat before stopping itself along the lines of time, in response to her stilled angelic face, an imprint that would vanish before any lasting words could be produced._

_"A trail of fragmented glimmers from Keiko knitted melodiously through Sen's brown hair, and then to his hand, bathing him ever so gently up his arm as he followed them with his trembling eyes. The glittery residuals finally circled to a stop once they reached his chest where they massaged at his heart, and he would watch her last sparkle linger longingly in his chest before fading away to reveal the engagement ring he gave her, slowly succumbing to gravity as it floated to the ground._

"_When time stood still… for me and you… Keiko and Sen…'_

_"Like a crisp delicate careful single drop of water, it was the sound that rippled at his feet as the ring fell out of his grip and hit the ground. The sound managed to awaken the blank pasty walls of the dream prison to reemerge, and they slowly returned to Sen's view._

_"He realized all he had from that night was the ghostly white umbrella and a trail of memories. The umbrella, which was leaning on the wall now, matched the ashen colors perfectly. Keiko's father was kind enough to let him have it. It was something that was left behind, probably from the stern looking creature, in the confusion of their hasty departure._

_"I'm sorry… for having kept the two of you… apart… thinking you were… the one sent… to take her away, when in fact, you're the one sent to protect her…' Sen could still hear Keiko's father apologize despairingly, his voice strained from the loss of his daughter._

_"Sen… I'm… truly sorry...'_

_"Once again, the rain was the only exception to his silence inside the dream prison, but tonight, the tapping sounds were excessively melancholic. It could be his imagination, but Sen could somehow sense Keiko's sparkles around him, spraying through the open window. Without considering the possibility of being enchanted by illusions, he grabbed the white umbrella and sprinted outside, wanting to follow them._

_"Keiko! Keiko!' he roared in the rain, running madly in circles, hoping she was nearby. He did open the umbrella, but it was as if it had no cover, for the rain was piercing through it and soaking his body, seeping all the way past his clothes and to his heart, because the rain was bleeding down in bricks and mortars, sheets and pellets._

_"It was unclear what took place afterwards because everyone stayed in their houses to hide from the powerful storm, which apparently escalated passionately without mercy. They made a wise decision, for the storm was so destructive its tentacles seemingly distorted the speed of time. Neighboring villagers saw a gigantic light searing through the horizons, followed by a thundering blast of sound, ripping through the mountain. The ones that were brave enough to poke their eyes through their windows from their houses could feel the radiating heat. They swore they saw the horizons being cracked in two. Others who lingered intensely and fearlessly by their window, watching their crops turn to a crisp, claimed to have witnessed a faint shadow of two people, one holding another by the arms, under a white umbrella, ascending timelessly into the clouds._

_"After that stormy night, it was the last time they heard of the foreign young man named Sen. As villagers were cleaning up the neighborhoods the next few days, they reportedly uncovered a curious looking wooden staff in the fields abandoned not far away. Keiko's father understood who the item belonged to. Perhaps Sen got his wish, Keiko's father thought sorrowfully but wishfully._

_"Perhaps Sen was finally with Keiko again… in her world together… somewhere in the skies."_

_"Epilogue - Indeed, every snowflake has a purpose. For Keiko, she firmly believed that what the priestess did was not a mistake, because it accidentally provided an opportunity to allow two people to cross paths and truly love. It was an error for which Keiko did not require the priestess to apologize for. In fact, she was grateful, for letting her experience love, even if it was for such a seemingly brief period of time."_

The final word of the novel has now been grinded into Oliver's stomach, and he could close the book. He couldn't deny that the sadness he abandoned last winter has fully returned, but he still managed to chuckle, as the memory of him once teasing Ginny for her reading romance novels to supplement her stormy relationship with Harry, came for an unexpected visit in his mind.

Even though the book was closed, the surreal imagination ignited in his head by the story was still openly working in overdrive. Staring at the cover illustration, it was as if the girl standing under the archway was beginning to move; she was seemingly calling him to join her in her world. A gust of wind blew eerily by his bedroom window, sparking the wind chime and rain chains to speak flowingly through the air, communicating words to his feet and giving them the needed cue to stand.

The rain was still tumbling outside, and now accompanied by flashes of lightning powerful enough to illuminate his flat at regular intervals. Like a hollow zombie, Oliver gathered his ghostly white umbrella he mysteriously found in Japan. He could see his feet walking numbly to the door, heading in a mindless recreation of perhaps wanting to be like Sen, running out into the rain to join Keiko's world. But just as he opened the door, his footsteps were immediately halted. Someone was standing by his doorway. It was Prudence.


	8. Across The Glassy Window

**Chapter 8 Across The Glassy Window**

_Summary: Standing between them is always going to be something that divides them… the door in a frame, the light from a lamp, or the curtain on a window, that takes at least one person to open… but does this automatically mean the other person is also ready for its opening?_

Facing each other and standing on opposite sides of the doorway, they seemingly resembled a picture in a frame to each other's eyes, a vague portrait with a deep but sad history, capturing what was once upon a time that had passed. Prudence broke the stillness by poking her head up to meet Oliver's height, and his glazed and murky eyes became her entire vision against a starry background of flashing thunder reflecting off the walls, but it was as if the connection was shared by accident. The backward step she took to break the connection made her look like she had metal springs under her heels.

"Hey, Oliver. Sorry to bug you this late at night, but I…" Prudence panted with a hoarse voice that was more alto than usual. Although she sounded like she had rehearsed this speech countless times, it still came out with a trailing stutter, running out of breath just before she could finish. It didn't matter; the reply she received was his wordlessness. All she could hear were faint noises of spindrifts, his familiar rain chains and wind chime singing distantly from his bedroom in between the bolts of thunder, mixed with his erratic breaths, elements that reminded her time had not stood still, contrary to what she had originally assumed.

She could sense something was wrong with him. His sturdy outline was quivering. Once the shadow of her own voice dissipated into the empty common corridor, her eyes carefully approached his feet. The ghostly white umbrella illuminated like a lantern of light beside him, pulling her attention to it.

"Oliver, you're… heading out this late in the night? It's… way past midnight already," she checked her watch briefly before stopping her queries, realizing his whereabouts and intentions were not for her to question. After all, she was only his neighbor.

Prudence's hard alto voice that carried with it the current time stamp was circling around Oliver's head, and it managed to wake him up from what felt like a space of dizzying hallucinations. He swallowed abruptly and checked his watch too, quickly gluing the pieces of his head back together. She was right; time had sped ahead to the next day, while he was reading.

She guided her eyes down to her palm, sensing the need to fully explain why she was lingering by his door this late at night. Inadvertently, she crept closer to him, giving him no choice but to move back. He could see something glimmering magically in her hand.

"Zoe had no right to jostle this beautiful compass away from you and give you so much trouble tonight."

"Jostle? We didn't jostle…" Oliver tipped his body aside absentmindedly, letting Prudence inside. Her clothes were slightly wet, most likely from the pouring rain, and he could smell the scent of water in the air that hugged her path.

"I was sure she pried it out of your hands, that troublemaker," said Prudence before she winced at another roar of thunder cascading along the walls of his flat.

Oliver's reaction to the thunder, however, was meaningfully different. Seeing her wince, he just wanted to hold her, but since he couldn't explain his reasons why, he refrained from doing so.

"Not at all. Zoe was good… the entire time. I was reading to her, and I… wanted to… you know… continue reading the story, because I was getting to the good part… so she offered to exchange the book for my…" he skipped to a pause before inserting gingerly, "my compass."

"You gave this up for a fairy tale book?" Prudence quipped as if she was talking to a child.

"What's wrong with me reading fairy tales?" he glanced at the book's cover lying on the pile of newspapers, gladly seeing the girl in the illustration had settled back to reality.

"Absolutely nothing wrong, Oliver," smiled Prudence regrettably, with the weight of the air between them slowly shifting inexplicably.

"But… I think Zoe wasted no time breaking it."

"No. It was broken before I gave it to her," he blurted.

"Oh, so that's why the needle keeps getting stuck, always pointing in one direction," Prudence innocently snapped it open in front of Oliver. "There it is again! Stuck! But that certainly can't be north!"

"Pointing… in one direction?" Oliver stared at her hand in disbelief to register what she had just said. The expression on his face contorted as if she had just hammered his head with a nutcracker

"Yes, look!" Prudence pointed smoothly as she focused on the compass, unsure why Oliver was suddenly so worked up.

Without thinking, Oliver leaned towards her, breathing in her scent of rain that was her temporary accessory. The sight was something he was evidently not ready to see. The sight came with consequences, and he knew it, but it was too late. He had seen it. Inside Prudence's hand, the needle of the Amoré was pointing straight at him. There was no mistake. There was no doubt. A small adjustment by him to the left was enough to move the needle slightly to the left too.

"What is it?" Prudence swallowed the expanding lump grinding in her throat that was formed as a response to his skin closing in on her in the dark. She fidgeted slightly, but eventually summoned the courage to look at him, only to see him respond to her question with his brown eyes that seemingly started to tremble without command. It was all it took to make her realize that she had forgotten to put up her guard of nonchalance tonight, and something she had been trying so hard to avoid might have unfortunately started right before her eyes as a result.

The air between them thickened with emotions too complicated to explain, and both could detect the volatile changing chemicals underneath their skin reacting to it. The lightning continued to brighten his flat at regular intervals, as if it was making sure both could recognize each other's feelings permeating through their eyes, signaling the change in the dynamics of their platonic relationship.

"Prudence… I…" his lips stopped functioning as his windpipe lost its supply of oxygen because of the thickening air. He didn't understand why he couldn't shut his leaking gaze; he wasn't even trying to search for answers through her eyes because the Amoré already managed to provide it for him.

She took a step back and broke off his gaze, one she was determined to not allow herself to be captured by, even though her heart was complaining loudly in her ears. It was asking her for reasons why, the familiar metal clanking sounds again, except she could not blame the intruding sounds on the door keys this time, because tonight, she carried no key chain across her chest.

"Oliver, I'm… I have to go," Prudence burst scratchily, turning her head down to conceal the shades of red dotting across her cheeks.

"Goodnight," she closed the locket and dumped it into his hand before rushing out to the common corridor, her feet reluctantly following her instructions to move.

"Pru, wait!" Oliver tailed her clumsily, but what to do next was a blank in his mind. Standing outside, he knew he had to say something, but all he could do was to watch her soundlessly as she trudged towards her flat with her face down the entire time. Without looking at his direction, she disappeared inside.

Oliver's mind was not functioning anymore. His entire body was tingling moistly with so much sweat he thought he might soon be electrocuted by the flashes of lightning thundering outside. It was unclear how long he stood motionless in the corridor, studying the gray tile where Prudence last stood, but his reckoning was when Yuriko and Prudence's faces appeared to have overlapped into one.

Mysteriously, Prudence's unexpected visit suddenly made him lose the urgency to run outside to meet the rainstorm with the white umbrella and simulate what happened to Sen and the celestial beings in the story. Thinking back, it was indeed a foolish thing to consider, even by wizardry standards. Instead, he could see his feet heading back indoors, guiding his troubled form carefully to his bedroom to recover, and fully return to reality.

The thunderstorm had passed without incident, leaving no traces of it behind. Sleep ought to be the next thing Oliver should do. His bed was enticing because he was very tired, but something else attracted his attention once inside his bedroom. Despite the fluttering echoes of the wind chime and rain chains seemingly fighting for his focus, it was the view through his window, a light the shape of a square not too far away that caught his eyes. Examining it with saddened interest as if he was witnessing this for the first time, he was admiring the glowing light beaming across at a distance. It was Prudence's bedroom window. Within the light, he could spot a blurry motionless image shining through the curtains, triggering the beginnings of a slight twist at the core of his heart.

"Prudence…" he sighed guiltily as he marched to the window and pushed his curtains aside, hoping to see his neighbor, but her room immediately turned dark to a perfect timing.

Watching agonizingly at Oliver's window from her room, Prudence quickly stepped away from her bedroom window and switched off her lights as soon as she caught his curtains starting to move. If only her heart had a switch too, and feelings could be switched off so easily like her lamp, she cried silently to herself.

She didn't want him to catch her looking at his direction. She didn't want to make the same mistake she made moments ago, when she suspected she had inadvertently revealed her feelings through her eyes and cracking voice. In return though, she was awarded with a gaze she had wished to see from him in her many dreams.

Prudence knew from the beginning Oliver was always going to be a casual friend and nothing more, because he was deeply in love with someone else, despite all the obstacles. She was determined to keep it this way. This was exactly what she shouted at her mother earlier when they left the house, hoping this explanation would silence her mother's matchmaking tactics once and for all.

For her, she always held by the belief she would be content as a single mother, focusing all her energy on raising her daughter. She thought her fires were extinguished when Zoe's father abandoned her years ago. Keeping her heart locked, she didn't want to be burned again, and become the extra card in a game of Bridge, to be sacrificed, discarded, auctioned, and traded. It was her way to put it to her mother bluntly in the only context she seemed to appreciate.

At the gallery this evening, her paintbrush was acutely active for some reason. She found herself painting nothing but an archway resembling a moon gate. It was a whispering voice in her head that guided her to do so. It was Oliver's voice. She had accidentally painted Oliver's childish dream:

"…_a huge magnificent crystal white gate as tall as a building… constructed somewhat like an archway, sitting atop… a mountain…_

"_The place is sort of… decorated by… a deep effervescent horizon, the color of… cream tomato soup…_

"_The mountain… like dark chocolate pudding… cotton clouds shaped like… a potato…"_

It had been a long time since her canvas had color other than white. She didn't understand why it fell silent this past summer, and she couldn't remember when was the last time she had to employ so much color on one canvas.

_"And as for the sun… it's shaped like… the egg in this salad…"_

Prudence laughed feebly. She couldn't believe she had actually used Oliver's dream as her inspiration. He was certainly not very sophisticated with his colors and words, but she was adamant with keeping the picture to his description as much as possible. Between Yuriko and Oliver, it was evident Yuriko was the poetic one, but Prudence was always convinced it was these differences that made them the perfect couple in her eyes.

After finishing the final touches of the portrait at the gallery, bittersweet emotions characterized Prudence's mind. On the one hand, her head was telling her she accomplished a beautiful picture, enough to submit for the competition. Yet on the other hand, her heart was telling her she had lost an important battle; her lock had become undone.

She shook her head in frustration, wondering when and how Oliver managed to override all her defenses and sneaked inside her without detection, covering her heart with his arrows. The alarms that signaled his entry never sounded. Nothing alerted her. She certainly didn't invite him in. After all, he was in love with someone else. It happened too quickly.

As much as she tried to not admit, her instincts had already asserted themselves recklessly in full force, like wanting to see him earlier, using the excuse of returning the locket to him, only to find herself lingering by his door too long to remember, debating whether she should ring, until he surprised her by opening his door.

Even though Prudence was in darkness, it was unable to make her feel sleepy. Deep inside, she knew sleep would not cure her illness. In time, she had forgotten how long she had been gazing at her window from a safe distance, thinking about her neighbor, and how she really wanted to let him know...

"He must be asleep," she muttered helplessly. A small piece of pearly hope glided down her cheek from the corner of her eyes, and it lingered on her chin. It was hanging on, wishing to see its owner receive a much needed reply from the person sleeping across the window.

Unbeknownst to Prudence, Oliver was not asleep. He was gazing out his window the entire time too, looking at her direction and thinking about her with his eyes. Clutching the Amoré with one hand, he made sure it was closed, knowing he was not prepared to see any potential new answers, if there was one. The ghostly white umbrella in his other hand had fallen out of his radar, as the background notes from the wind chime and rain chains gradually stopped playing their familiar melody, after noticing him closing his window.

"She must be asleep," he muttered silently, watching his breath form a blanket of mist on his window, covering his view of her dark motionless bedroom.

"Sweet dreams, Prudence," said Oliver as he closed his eyes.

"Sweet dreams, Oliver," Prudence whimpered from her room as her pearl finally fell to the ground.


	9. Snowflake

**Chapter 9 Snowflake**  


_Summary: To survive is a lifespan of cold and loneliness. To be safe is to travel with the bitter winds. Yet one snowflake is determined to find his path to warmth, even knowing that his decision would mean his instant demise. But no one will understand the snowflake. He would not want it any other way. With his last breath, he slowly melts away, in the fires of love he was always destined to be with…_

"Wood, you can wait here," McGonagall ushered Oliver into Dumbledore's office. Even though the Headmaster was not there, Oliver could still feel his mystic presence from every piece of his eclectic possessions that filled the room, busily reassuring the former pupil that their owner should be back very soon.

"Professor Dumbledore should be back very shortly," McGonagall confirmed the same rhyming message echoing from the eclectic possessions. "He's currently held back in the Ministry's office."

Oliver marched further inside, clutching his ghostly white umbrella and fairy tale book preciously. He had been shielding the items from the snow that began to fall shortly after he reached the grounds of Hogwarts. Brushing his blazer that was covered in melting snowflakes, he surely was not dressed for this unusual bitter weather for this time of year.

Oliver returned to Hogwarts wanting to seek his answers from Dumbledore; the Headmaster was the only person he could think of that could help him. After reading the _Angel Ame_ fairy tale, he could not deny the events that happened since Yuriko's abandoning him at the train station now appeared to hold their own unique but dreamlike meanings. The connections between the story and these odd events were unquestionably blatant, making him to seriously consider that, as unlikely as it was, the unthinkable has happened to Yuriko.

Looking around, Dumbledore's calm office had not changed since the last time he visited. The portraits of the numerous former Headmasters and Headmistresses were actively following his trail interestingly. This was not peculiar, as Oliver had been accustomed to them, since they were not famous for their discreetness. What was peculiar was something bothering him from behind. Had it not for the tingly vibrations at the back of his head, he would not have turned around abruptly and disturb the serene air.

It was McGonagall. The sensation was because her eyes had been nailed deeply into him, except they were not accompanied by her usual sternness. Instead, he could sense a whiff of concern and kindness from her stiff features, however accidental and momentary the dosage seemingly was. She also appeared to be very tired.

"Oliver, I'll arrange for your luggage to be shipped to the North Tower, where you stayed the last time, if… that's all right with you," said McGonagall gingerly, shifting her somber focus to his umbrella that shone like a lantern.

Suspecting that McGonagall knew about his reasons for being here, judging by her apparent deep interest in his umbrella, he surfaced a smile. It was the only way to reassure her he was all right.

"Thanks, Professor," nodded Oliver politely. If only she could pack away his emotional baggage as well, he thought hollowly to himself.

"Snowing in the middle of March?" he asked noticeably, setting his belongings on Dumbledore's tidy desk. He had forgotten how long his fingers had been tightly locked in a gripped position for the sake of clutching the umbrella and the book.

"Er… Yes," she answered evasively. "It's been… an erratic spring this year."

She keenly changed subjects, "I presume… you'll stay with us for…"

"A few days at most… no more than that. I don't want to be trouble."

"No, not at all, Oliver," she cut in. "Feel free to… stay as long as you like."

Oliver's eyebrow raised an inch, his eyes gazing oddly at McGonagall; he had a distinct impression her pitch had just risen by an entire octave with that last comment. She might have noticed it too, judging by her awkward smile soon after, but it was as if she had to muster every ounce of energy to prevent her stoic face from shifting too freely away from her template frown.

"I'll tell Dumbledore you're here as soon as he arrives," she calmly left, and the door spun to a close behind her.

Left on his own, Oliver paced to Fawkes' perch quietly. The firebird was clearly asleep, oblivious to his presence, even though he was patting the feathery tail, evidently to keep his hand occupied.

"Fawkes," Oliver murmured softly, hoping the magic bird's master could provide him with his much needed answers today.

Musing wishfully to himself, Dumbledore might be the only person to have a theory for everything that has happened to him. The ghostly white umbrella spinning enigmatically towards him in Osaka, the possibility that it was an enchanted object capable of the transported night spell that could carry him to another dimension like the story, and the existence of celestial beings with a different concept of time…

Oliver shook his head. He could not think anymore, but like a snow globe, shaking it would just stir up the snow even more. In the midst of the mess, only one thing now was certain for him. Simply put, too many issues were entangling mulishly in his mind, battling hotly with his heart. He now wondered whether human brains such as his were geared for such complications.

Thinking back, Oliver was surprised he was able to put every detail of his dilemma on the parchment to send to Dumbledore prior to his visit. He recalled writing profusely in his bedroom along the timeless sounds of haunting wind chimes. It was as if they were playing him the melodies of what to compose, making sure that he wrote all the material notes down, so the Headmaster would have enough information and background to decipher the truth.

Voicing the events on the owl was difficult. It was reasonable; after all, it is not common for people to write about oneself in the context of a fairy tale. However, writing everything down would make it feel real. In the end, Oliver could not believe he had weaved himself and Yuriko into a seemingly fictional story, much like the author who wrote _Angel Ame._ Unfortunately, it was a sad tale; he and Yuriko were characters of a sad fairy tale.

Was it possible that fairy tales could take place in real life? All this time, he blamed the Amoré for not finding Yuriko because it was faulty. He recalled glimpsing at it when he was babysitting Zoe that evening, and once again, the needle was not giving him his needed answers. But when Prudence had it in her hand hours later, it was functioning normally, and to his heartbreaking surprise, the needle was pointing solidly at him.

So the Amoré was not broken after all, he mumbled to himself. Scanning the timeline, the last time when it was functioning while it was in his possession was when he was in the Burrow, when Ginny gave it to him as a farewell present. From that, he theorized that something must have happened to Yuriko immediately after he began his journey to search for her.

His eyes had to close at this juncture; the veins inside were needling them again, because to his despair, he realized he might have been too late in his journey to find Yuriko. He now understood why it was unable to locate her when he was in Osaka. It was because she had become…

Oliver couldn't complete that thought. As he felt Fawkes' cottony tail wiggle lightly to shake off his bothersome hand, he could not accept the possibility that Yuriko was no longer in this world. The idea of describing her as a celestial being from a different dimension was still too painful.

Admittedly, amongst the surrealism of all this was the reality that was his neighbor. For some reason, his feet had to wage a fiercely contested combat with his head just to get them moving. It was truly difficult leaving Prudence behind, and he still could not make sense of the rush of feelings he had for her that night.

Before he left, he visited his neighbor, wanting to let her know he was leaving, but she was not there. It could be for the better, he whispered to himself. Instead, he recalled Mrs. Anderson and Zoe answering the door.

_"Zoe, this is for you,"_ he placed the Amoré on her tiny palm. He could not talk properly. A tiny lump in his throat was blocking his windpipe.

_"It's only fair. A trade is a trade…"_

That was all he could say; he probably did not even say goodbye to them.

Oliver was convinced his only reason for giving the Amoré away was because of his agreement with the girl made earlier, and not because he did not want to see any new potential answers from it. After all, he was confident there was no other answer. Envisioning himself with a woman other than Yuriko was not possible.

As for Prudence, the best he could do was to repeat to himself the many cliché reasons and persuasive arguments such as those that said she deserved someone better, that she…

"You may borrow my Pensive if you wish to deposit some of those thoughts and memories tormenting you inside your head, Mr. Wood," said a flowing voice from behind.

Oliver popped his eyes open and turned around swiftly. Standing peacefully next to him was Dumbledore, behind his usual moon shaped spectacles. From the corner of his eye, he could spot the portraits of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses, all nodding in sympathy.

"Is that the enchanted umbrella and the book you mentioned in your letter?" Dumbledore paced to his desk and studied them vigilantly.

"Professor, thank you for taking the time to see me on such short notice," said Oliver in a battered voice. "I… didn't know who else to speak to."

Dumbledore was too occupied with the items to answer. He opened the umbrella and examined every arm of the frame grippingly. In deep thought, he flipped open the book as Oliver bit his lip, intensely observing him scan the final chapter. Before arrival, he had prepared a lot of questions for the Headmaster, but at the moment, he found his tongue frozen, unable to voice any of them.

After a minute that stretched into an hour, Dumbledore finally removed his spectacles and set the book gently on the table. His grim expressions were unmistakable.

"A truly sad ending to a fairy tale, I must say," Dumbledore mumbled wearily.

"Professor, do you think… I mean… is it possible…do you believe?" Oliver heatedly garbled in one zipped breath. It must be too many questions trying to burst out at the same time.

Oliver had expected a fulfilling and knowledgeable answer from Dumbledore. Instead, he simply peered at him and smiled with a twinkle in his eye, "Well, do you?"

"I…" his words fizzled out, but Dumbledore continued to gaze at Oliver without a sound, maintaining his grin.

"It's just…" Oliver crushed the silence, the words of madness finally gushing out in full force, "the whole idea of a human girl as a celestial being, her being this… this rain angel… in a world with a differing speed of time… this is… this is utter craziness!"

Fawkes suddenly ruffled its feathers in blazing protest, probably awakened by Oliver's loud voice as it continued to expand itself to all hidden corners of the room.

"Sir, the girl in the story resembles Yuriko so much… and… Ginny's Amoré… it was unable to find her when I was in Osaka… how can I not believe?

"And the rain that day… and then the umbrella… rolling towards me on the sidewalk… as if it was…"

"As if it was meant for you to have it," Dumbledore helped Oliver complete his dying sentence.

Dumbledore retrieved the book from his desk again, rubbing the cover with his sleeve, "Have you heard of the existence of moon gates?"

Oliver shook his head, his eyes following the Headmaster as he marched towards him, directing him to the cover illustration, his finger tracing the drawing of the archway.

"I did have dreams about seeing this vision before, but… I was never able to see anything clearly, and before I could see anything more, I would always be woken up… by the wind chimes and–"

"Oh, you poor thing!" one of the portraits screeched. "The lad here hasn't had a good night's sleep in days!"

Furtive murmurs being actively exchanged by the characters of the portraits could be heard in the background, but Dumbledore ignored them and continued his explanation.

"From my memories of history lessons I attended as a child, in some Asian cultures, there exist certain gateways… archways built just like this… that would join one part of a garden with another. It's believed that… lovers… couples… pass through this archway to renew the passion of their love… and be transported to another dimension they can call their own.

"Symbolically, it's a place their intimate love would ultimately reside."

Oliver gazed at Dumbledore confusedly.

Dumbledore sighed wanly, "Oliver, there are many realms… worlds… beyond the one we live in. We are certainly not alone in this vast dimension."

"Professor, what are you saying?" asked Oliver disturbingly.

"What if I were to tell you that… in the generation we live in now, this book is grouped as a fairy tale, but have you considered that… perhaps in a distant past time, or in a separate but hidden world… it's possible this book, as well as other fairy tales… were grouped as non-fiction?

"I truly believe there are origins to everything in this universe. Behind every single idea or story that we now simply call folklores and fairy tales, there are elements of solid truth."

Oliver could see the picture of one of the former Headmasters nodding animatedly in the corner, seemingly confirming Dumbledore's point of view.

"Beliefs change with people all the time. Truths evolve and adapt to elements and theories that compete with each other in society all the time… theories from religion, science, folklore...

"As centuries pass us by, what is a fairy tale and what is truth… becomes unclear… because it gets lost through language, generations of time, and culture. Memories and words decay with the erosion of time…

"Often, events that solidly existed in the past may gradually be discredited because people discover a new way of interpreting them, and these ideas are then quickly dismissed as fiction and folklore. But how can a person fully discredit past events when they never lived through those times?"

"But Professor, this is madness! This–"

"Oliver, how are you to say that once upon a time, there is no angel of rain out there, guarding over our farmers' crops as this author has claimed?

"I'll give you a simply analogy. In the muggle world, it is a widely held view that witches, wizards, magic and charms are considered fiction and only exist in fairy tales. But you know that's not true. The two of us are real. Hogwarts castle is real. It has solid bricks and staircases.

"Now it's up to you to accept that there are other worlds out there… occupied by other beings… that truly exist… including the so-called celestial world mentioned in this story…

"Which leads us… to your final question about… the rare occurrences of Fantasy's mirror…"

"Fantasy's mirror?" asked Oliver, his attention as well as those of the portraits around the room were now acutely aimed at Dumbledore.

"It's a term we use to describe the phenomenon of an apparent crossover between the so called fictional world and the real world.

"When the unthinkable challenges truth, when illusions mirror reality…

"When illusions _become_ reality."

Oliver's eyes widened. He felt like they were on fire, watching Dumbledore's face that looked like he had just aged twenty years after that comment.

Oliver darted his focus to the book, trying to swallow Dumbledore's point of view that left a numb taste in his mouth. He eyed at the umbrella furtively, but it was as if Dumbledore could read his mind. The Headmaster reached for it and handed it to him.

"As I said before, it was as if it was meant for you to have it. Therefore, I will not stop you from pursuing her with it, if that's what you think you must do," said Dumbledore to Oliver's surprise.

The Headmaster paced to the nearby window, attracting Oliver's focus to the sparkling snowflakes outside.

"Isn't snow beautiful?" asked Dumbledore philosophically. "The way they drift independently on their own, searching for their own special journey…"

"Yuriko once told me every snowflake has a purpose," reminisced Oliver.

"They sure do have a purpose... at least for Professor McGonagall. They are the things we do to protect the people we care about…" whispered Dumbledore to the window, shaking his head, his pitch tightening up.

"I told her to not spend the entire night…"

"What was she doing?" asked Oliver curiously, not fully understanding where the Headmaster was steering their conversation.

Dumbledore chuckled, "She was trying to figure out the best and safest spell to ensure… all Hogwarts precipitation would fall in the form of snow and not rain, before her favorite pupil and former Gryffindor Quidditch captain arrives…

"Because she is absolutely certain snowfall never accompanies lightning, she thinks… it's the best method to keep him from danger… to keep Hogwarts at below freezing temperatures and fill the premises with bitter cold winds... in the middle of spring, mind you.

"Indeed, every snowflake here has a purpose."

Oliver twisted his head down in silence. He did not know what else to say.

"You know what I said to her, Oliver?" inserted Dumbledore helplessly as he reached his hand outside the window. A few snowflakes willingly landed on his palm and melted instantly.

"I asked her to take a look at the very snowflakes she created. You see, Oliver, for snowflakes to survive, they cannot leave their cold environment. They are only safe inside the bitter winds. They cannot come in contact with anything warm, or else it would mean their instant demise.

"But some… are determined, as stubborn as they are, to seek out companionship, to follow the direction to warmth… fire… love, even if… it means getting hurt… burnt… or perhaps… meeting their end."

"Professor–"

"Not all people appreciate what you're going through," Dumbledore intercepted. "Until they face the decision themselves, when they hit that crossroad, when they can't turn back, the choice to… melt away in the arms of love versus a life of cold and bitter winds is not as obvious as it seems. Is that right, Oliver?"

Oliver did not reply, but he was convinced his grip on the umbrella was as determined as ever.

"Let me ask you if I may, Oliver, before you… embark on your journey. When you look around, frankly, there is… nothing in our world you'll miss? There's nothing… no one in this world worthy for you to stay? I mean…"

Dumbledore walked closer to Oliver, "I've known you since you're a child, watched you grow up to become the nice young man you are today. And now… a man with an earring I might add…

"So I was thinking last night. If you do… believe you possess the power of the transported night spell with the umbrella, why did you not try it?" Dumbledore challenged.

"I'm sure there are many rainstorms during spring time. Knowing the fearless person you always are, why didn't you go for it… instead of electing to spend the minutes now… chatting with an old man like me?"

Oliver's ears snapped into a blaze. He felt like Dumbledore was interrogating his unshakable position for Yuriko and he desperately sensed the urgency to reassert himself, "When I first discovered it in Osaka, the rain had already tapered off, so… I didn't use it. I didn't think much of it… until I read the book… and it was then I suspected of its powers.

"I did want to try it immediately that night!" he clarified in full volume, "but Pru… she came by for a visit!"

"Pru?" asked Dumbledore in an inquisitive but hopeful voice.

Just when Oliver was almost on his way to forgetting about the presence of those dynamic nosy portraits surrounding him, it appeared they collectively reenergized themselves with a piercing glow. Subsequently, the characters all froze themselves, including the images of animals. Much to his dismay, they were all hungrily watching him motionlessly and scandalously.

"Prudence," fidgeted Oliver uncomfortably, blushing slightly. He could feel everyone's eyes carrying millions and millions of years of knowledge exploring and disarming him devilishly.

"She's… she lives next door, with her mum. She watches over my flat… collects my papers… when I'm away.

"SHE has a daughter named Zoe!" Oliver suddenly blasted. He scratched his head. He did not know why it was important to utter this additional fact to Dumbledore.

"I think we have a situation of a man in possession of two hearts," one of the portraits analyzed tactlessly.

"Well, you can't blame the lad. Can't you see? He's so handsome," a female voice whistled from behind.

"Tell us more about Prudence!" Oliver could hear a bundle of voices cheering randomly.

"She's a muggle," he replied, feeling like a child confessing and being disciplined by multiple generations of authority. "She's… a cashier and… she… paints."

As soon as he uttered his last word, Oliver thought his lungs were being sucked out as Dumbledore's office exploded into an instant vacuum of loud incomprehensible commotion. Looking around in shock once the noise faded, he realized all the former Headmasters and Headmistresses had abandoned their now disheveled portraits and vanished.

Oliver was left with fragments of his chin dangling; he had a nasty feeling where they all went.

Dumbledore tidied his beard, "Don't blame them. They lead boring lives after all. I'm sure they won't blemish your friend's paintings."

Before Oliver could decipher what Dumbledore had meant with his comment, the Headmaster suddenly gazed intrusively at him. He could feel Dumbledore's glittering pupils gliding the inside of his skull. He looked away, letting the silence take over as the image of Prudence's night window made a vivid visit inside his head.

As if Oliver needed to augment his shock further, Fawkes violently combusted into a fireball and hurled itself towards the door, in the process seemingly burning up all the sad air that had filled the room.

"Ahh… another person who really cares about you has come for a visit, and I assure you she won't be just an image in your head, Oliver," announced Dumbledore, with another twinkle in his eye.

"This one is a redhead, and I can sense she's losing her patience. She's as fiery as the firebird, so I better let her in," Dumbledore glanced at the door and it automatically swung open to reveal a very familiar girl standing by. It was Ginny.

"Hey, soul mate!" she giggled soothingly to Oliver.

As Yuriko once said, the most beautiful girl is a girl in love. She was definitely right. Ginny had reclaimed the look he had once seen in a photo from her past with Harry. It was a bizarre feeling. Seeing her glowing radiant face, his lips automatically formed a broad smile; he was happy to see her succeed with Harry. But at the same time, he could detect the corners of his eyes were beginning to melt away. Was it because it just occurred to him that Ginny was the only person in this world who would truly understand, because she was the only person who had truly seen him cry?


	10. Marionette

**Chapter 10 Marionette**

_Summary: Loving someone is like allowing that person to permanently dictate every movement of one's heart strings, and every moment of one's happiness and sadness. We wonder of his next move… it all depends on his owner…._

The view of the castle from atop the dazzling mountain was the perfect picture in Oliver's eyes, especially when the air was layered with curtains of colors that evidently could not make up their mind as to what shade they should be. Also busy with their decision making were the overcast clouds that potted his vision. Watching them busily plow along under the guidance of their inner cores, seemingly nothing could stop them from floating across the skies of vast choices, regardless of their shapes and sizes. Childishly, he wondered if they had ears, because he had for them a piece of advice, and it happened to be caught between his teeth…

_"All of you should stop, take a moment, and consider what it is that all of you are so eagerly chasing after, and whether it is worth it…"_

"Oliver! What are you talking about? You're not making any sense!" Ginny growled and zipped her oversized jacket to a close. The winds lifted their speed to another notch, perhaps as a prelude to snow.

Thanks to Ginny's thunderous display, anything that was mulishly fuzzy inside Oliver's head hastily clarified itself. In the process, his mind quickly gave him a nudge that speaking one's thoughts out loud when there is company is not an acceptable human social behavior.

"You didn't hear a word I said?" she steamed louder than necessary, in an attempt to speed up her blood flow to her neglected extremities.

Oliver crawled up from the snowy ground and stomped to a nearby barren tree, his mind finally lining itself to the frequency that was reality. He couldn't help but notice, to his dismay, that Ginny's voice was now comparatively more higher-pitched than the last time he saw her. Could it be that a girl's general state of happiness be measured by the tone of her voice?

"YOU were rambling 'bout Harry like you're going through an episode of intense verbal diarrhea!"

Ginny's jaw jolted open, fumes of angry but inaudible vapor puffing out of her lips and into the chilly air.

"I could have been picking my teeth THE ENTIRE TIME and you wouldn't notice it…"

Ginny's cheeks expanded maddeningly, spitfires of toxins roasting his back to a boil.

"Plus, you were as EARSPLITTING as Mrs. Weasley! I don't know how poor Potter can still have a set of functioning ears at this point…"

That was it. How dare he associate her tender feminine voice, as per Harry, to that of her shrieking mother? It was the last straw. Clenching her teeth, Ginny rolled a massive snowball and hurled it at Oliver, hitting him squarely in the buttocks. But to her shock and horror, his firm and well-defined buttocks, at least according to her giddy roommates, a set of muscles she had the impression of being able to withstand any physical punishment, just shattered to the ground like porcelain upon impact along with the rest of his body in front of her eyes.

"OLIVER!" she raced towards him, her eyes cascading to the ground to track his fallen limbs which were all over the place. Next to the mound of yesterday's snow, he reminded her of a wooden marionette that was just tossed aside and abandoned by its owner.

"Are you okay? I'm sorry! I'M SORRY!" she shrieked with an octave that had no ceiling.

"I'm… fine… Please… Gin… No need to shriek…" he begged with a flickering frown, covering his ringing ear with an unsteady hand, pondering why it had to be now that he become ultra-sensitive to piercing pitches.

"I'm sorry," she apologized whisperingly. "I shouldn't have done that."

"Must be the patch of frost on the ground…" he reasoned unconvincingly, still crumbled awkwardly under the tree, not caring which part of his numb body Ginny was currently holding on to pull him upright.

"Yeah… you're right… must be the frost," she grimaced sympathetically.

"Your Bludger… it was a clean hit though," grinned Oliver with an ailing strain. "Just… wasn't expecting it to hit me from behind… that's all…

"Just wasn't… expecting… a lot of things… you know… to be this way…"

Judging by Oliver's lethargic shadow that appeared to be fading, Ginny could foresee his disorderly body would suffer more damage if she were to handle it further, so she chose to simply feather the snow off his blazer. Knowing she could never lift all of him back up, she elected to curl herself up like a red fluffy cushion by his side under the tree, as an invitation for him to lean on if needed.

"Dumbledore told me everything that has happened. I… I… don't know what to say… What can I do to help?"

Oliver straightened his workhorse spine and shook his head lightly. Instead of replying, he elected to annoy her with a rather irrelevant observation, "I see you still haven't kicked the habit of wearing Harry's jackets! But that's okay, as long as you killed your other habit of crossing the street in a red light!"

Ginny smiled sweetly, her face blossoming into a red lantern, "Oh, Harry doesn't mind. I told him he can wear my stuff if he wishes."

There was a string of simpering snorts from Oliver, but she was too distracted with Harry's honeycomb do-no-wrong jacket to notice.

"I know it's kinda heavy and big on me but I find men's clothes to be so much better quality," she babbled verbosely. "The stitching is so much better, plus I like the way it feels–"

"Oh, please spare me!" he zapped to her disappointment, squashing her zealous need to share the details of her and Harry with anyone that had ears.

"By the way, Oliver, Harry's totally fine with me being with you alone like this now," purred Ginny archly. "He is not jealous at all, like before, so I… can stay with you for as long as you need."

"Speaking of Harry," Oliver's face arranged itself seriously, pretending to not have heard her offer. "I have a pathetic question to ask you.

"Have you… ever wondered… what if… what would you truly do… if Harry were to… you know…"

Ginny understood bleakly where he was wheeling this conversation. She tidied the space between them, their jackets now hugging each other, "It's a fair question, Oliver. I would be lying if I say I never considered about it, given Harry's precarious situation.

"In fact, we talked about it recently."

She shifted her focus to the castle ahead of them, tabulating the number of floors of the castle to the amount of close calls and near death experiences Harry had so far.

"I know it's schmaltzy, but we agreed… we made a pledge… Harry and me… if one of us were to… you know… die, the other one… the other one…"

It took forever for Ginny to finish her sentence; it must be because she was attempting to summon an additional intake of oxygen to power her message clearly to Oliver, and to herself as well, as much as possible.

"Must. Happily. Live. On."

After hearing herself stone these words so affirmatively, she froze as she felt a drop of cold water fizzling longingly under her eye.

"Am I crying, Oliver?" she blinked spiritlessly, turning to him as she spotted a couple of sparkles on his pallid eyelashes.

"It's the snow," he smirked like a determined boy being manhandled, hacking his face off the pimples of water that evidently was the result of innocent melting snowflakes gone astray.

"Are you sure it is the snowflakes?" she teased.

"Look around you!" he hollered fruitlessly. "Can't you see them tumbling down just now?"

"But we're under the shading of a tree!" she argued back.

"What about the wind?" he barked in exasperation. "It's swirling! Oh, who cares! Just change subjects!"

Ginny shrugged her shoulders and giggled smugly, "Oh well, I guess… what I said… wasn't as touching as I thought."

Indeed, snow was falling with unyielding candor, so much so they now outnumbered the lasting seconds ticking inside Oliver's chest. The accumulation next to him resembled the heaps of memories he could no longer run away from, because like the snow, there were too many of them all over the place, in all directions.

"Ginny, I hope you don't mind. I sort of… gave your Amoré to someone else."

"Of course I don't mind. It belongs to you," she mailed a devilish eye at him. "But I must say… it's not something you give to just anyone. The girl you gave it to… must be special."

"Gin," he denied her devilish eye's request for entry, "the girl I gave it to… I think… is not even eight years old."

"WHAT? Prudence is a seven year old?" howled Ginny, her voice once again effortlessly threatening to breach the tenuous perimeters of Oliver's sanity. "First you have a crush on me and now you're working on single digit girls?"

Oliver shut his eyes, hoping illogically that could help shelter his eardrums and calculating obsessively why more girls couldn't have a more manageable ear-friendly low alto-ranged voice like that of Prudence's.

"Please… you don't need to employ the loudspeakers… The trees in France can hear you perfectly."

"It's just…" her pitch wavered back, "earlier, I overheard you uttering her name in Dumbledore's office, and then… I saw a lot of people's faces swimming out along the walls. I was sure… she…"

"Ginny, I gave it to her daughter, Zoe!" clarified Oliver incredulously, at this moment quickly worrying what those indiscreet former Headmasters and Headmistresses had done to Prudence and her paintings.

Oliver glimpsed at Ginny, curious as to why she had fallen uncharacteristically silent. Unsurprisingly, the streams of words and questions were instead permeating in full force out of her brown eyes.

"Prudence is my neighbor!" he sounded like he was testifying, defensively purging all the information he had. "She's a muggle… watches over my flat when I'm away competing. She thinks I teach English overseas. That's all!"

"You? Teaching English to little kids?" she squeaked, feeling compelled to dismantle him for comparing her to her mother earlier. "Oh, I'm having a hard time visualizing that!"

"That's because you haven't seen me wearing specs," he joked. "I can look… how do I say… quite -Harry-ish!"

"More like… how do I say… -McGonagall-ish- to me!" she thumped the back of his head, "Professor Oliver Wood, I'm not implying you're dumb. You just… don't strike the impression of a sweet little teacher, that's all."

"But I was assistant here for a handful of months--"

"Assistant to one weird looking Madam Hooch!" she seized his breath. "Even with your pierced ear and madman qualities, her freakishness can easily make you look almost maiden-like in comparison!"

"I'm not a madman! Fred and the others must have told you how I pushed the team!" he blasted back. "Don't listen to them! Trust me. It wasn't as manic as it sounds!"

"I don't have to!" she whacked his thigh. "Don't you remember? I trained with you for three months last year for the Hogwarts broom flying competition you concocted! You are the synonym of the word madman!

"So I'm a bit staggered Prudence bought your tiny little lie…

"But then again, people have a way of choosing to hear and believe things when they're coming out of the lips of someone you like. I should know. It's called selective hearing…"

Before Oliver could insert his opinion on this dicey subject, Ginny popped in gingerly, "Zoe's father… is he…"

"We're neighbors, not bosom buddies! I don't know anything about that!" he yelled in frustration, clearly having lost control of the conversation. "That's all I have to say! I don't know anything more! If you're so curious, you can ask her yourself!

"Anyway, change subjects!" he demanded hotly, and Ginny made a very long face.

"You know… I recall it was you who had a crush on me last year," Oliver suddenly corrected her and broadened his shoulders into a display of manliness. He swore he could hear himself laugh. It was a foreign husky sound, as if it belong someone else, but there was no one under the tree except Ginny. Nevertheless, it appeared the wind and snow held their hands around him, forming a glass jar, trapping the echoes from dissipating so he could hear them more.

"Don't make me throw up!" she gagged him and pinched his arm like she used to. "You're the one who wanted me to be your Chaser at the Burrow. Then you asked me to be partner for the competition, and it was you who —proudly-- told that receptionist at St. Mungo's I'm your girlfriend!"

Oliver's face stiffened to that day in the street, effortlessly casting away all the teasing words that had exhausted into the winds.

"You know, seeing you and Harry across the road that day… it gave me hope but…"

He could not continue as the heaviness in his throat dulled his voice cords. Another untimely arrival was the burning sensations in the inner corner of his eyes. While busy suppressing them, Ginny unexpectedly turned towards him and cupped his head with her small hand, gently guiding it to her shoulder.

"No, it's okay," Oliver blinked very quickly and dodged his head away from her hand, because to him, any tilting of his head might risk spilling the water behind his eye sockets. His eyebrows rapidly tightened his face like a thread, to keep the cloth of his pasty face from falling apart, but the red in his eyes was unmistakable.

"I have… a cold… that's all," he justified ineffectively, keeping his weary pupils steady.

"You're right. Must be… your cold…" she agreed pleadingly.

"And the… needling sharp winds too…" he gulped.

She nodded without a doubt, her voice skidding off-key, "Yes… the needling sharp winds too…"

Despite his reasons, she still took the bold initiative, and she wrapped her arms around him, but he fought them away. Between the two of them, he could easily win a physical battle on any day, but today was different. There was no doubt she was the stronger one today. He was the one in need of protection. What strength he had in his body were all allocated to his eyes, monotonously muzzling the eventual tears, one by one, but…

"Gin, I'm beyond pathetic…" he admitted with a whimper, his vision now completely hampered by trembling rays of rainbows as his eyes grew warmer and warmer to the point of no return. He hoped every single living creature around him could look away.

Ginny shook her head as her hand glided to the back of his trembling head once again, pushing him towards her, "As I've said before, you're not a fool, and you're not pathetic…

"You sound bad now because… like you said… you have a cold… and the needling sharp winds…"

"You might wanna… add your perfume… to the list that's… irritating my eyes…"

"It's… Harry's favorite…" she wept with a smile.

"Well, you smell… like… insect repellant… onion breath… "

He nestled his chin on her shoulder, positioning his head at an angle that anything watery inside would spill over. As was last year in his quarters at the North Tower with her, the reaction was instant. Ginny was always the one to open the dam in his eyes. He knew it was time to surrender. All the sniffing was in vain. The battle was lost. He was too weak to fight. His tortured face was exposed with truth. He felt like every beam of support inside him was unraveling, imploding, and ripping apart at the seams.

"Oliver…" she cried, her arms clipping his quivering frame tightly; she was seemingly trying to keep him from crumbling to the snow, telling him it was all right for him to bury every ounce of pain and heartache onto her. She could handle it. She could handle it now.

"Onion breath…" she could hear him churn out an ashen laugh between the resigning cries. In response, she patted his back softly as his stifled sniffing sounds became more profound. For some reason, she felt larger than she physically ever was, so smashingly large she was certain she was at this instant, shielding him entirely from the elements. She was surprisingly sturdy, despite currently carrying the weight of a defeated collapsed man twice her size on her shoulder.

"She's… gone…"

"Oliver… everything is going to be… okay…"

"………"

"Everything is… going to be… okay…" she repeated motherly, rubbing his back, his shoulders heaving on their path to gradual freedom.

"………"

Their muffled chorus of cries and hiccups harmonized colorlessly with the swirling winds, with each one stripping away the many hues that occupied the horizons, one by one, until everything was entirely white. It did not matter. Both had no plans for the rest of the day. She told him he could take as much time as he needed. In a sea of white ashes, as witnesses were the barren tree planted next to them, and the gentle snowflakes, no longer abandoned, documenting everything like leaflets of information, that landed on their sobbing skin, slowly melting to water.

_"It's… it's… cream tomato soup…_

_"Wait! It's the mountain again. I told you it reminds me of… dark chocolate pudding…_

_"And those cotton clouds… shaped like… a potato?_

_"But I had dinner already!_

_"Oh my gosh! The archway! I can see it… No! Bring me there! I MUST GO THERE! NO… DON'T WAKE UP! NOT NOW!_

"AARGH!"

In a bowl of lumps, Oliver found himself on the floor inside his quarters, his blanket twisting itself to his leg. He was used to falling like this; he felt like he had been dropped from the highest point of the goalpost in the Quidditch field. Once again, the usual ripples of winds haunted the North Tower walls because of the high altitude. Wiping the cold sweat on his face, he realized he just had the dream about the moon gate again. But this was more real than before. It was as if he could feel her nearby. In fact, he could sense her familiar perfume brushing his skin now. Was he still dreaming, he asked himself. As he turned to the side wishfully, to his surprise, an opaque Yuriko was sitting quietly next to him.

"Yuriko? Is that you? What are you doing in Hogwarts?" he uttered confusedly. It was the first words he could think of to say. It had been so long he thought he would not recognize her.

Even though they were calling loudly for his attention, he didn't want to blink or rub his sleepy eyes, for blinking and rubbing might hand someone the opportunity to steal her away from him again. All he wanted was to cast his eyes on her again, for her image to crystallize inside him again. It wasn't an egregious request. Please let him have this.

Suddenly, a fine slither of light coming from the window momentarily lit up his room, and it was enough to disturb the silent fabric of air molecules Oliver had tried so hard to keep stable. It was also enough to tickle the muscles in his eyelids. A costly blink of an eye was all it took for him to realize he had been gazing at the white umbrella all along. It was teasing him with an illusion.

"WHY-CAN'T-I-GET-YOU-OUT-OF-MY-MIND?" he pounded his fists against the floor madly, his manic eyes on fire, hopelessly wondering how much more of this punishment he could endure.

The slither of light from the window illuminated again, with the precision of a watchmaker, striking and splintering through the dark skies like the veins in his arms. Seconds later, it was followed by another one, and another.

Knowing what he must do to resolve this once and for all, he instinctively grabbed his broom and umbrella and dashed out of his quarters like the determined whirlwind. There was no path out of this dead end; it was the only means to put an end to this, he concluded adamantly, all the silence, lingering anguish, recurring dreams, and tormenting emotions. There was no other choice. Like Zen before him, it was the only way to free himself out of the dream prison.


	11. Thundersnow

**Chapter 11 Thundersnow**  


_Summary:_

"_Yuriko, I stand by the barren tree.  
I await your musical strings,  
Your letters my heart sings,  
Ambience for my bloodstains,  
Innocence under your celestial wings._

_Yuriko, I still have your ring.  
Stop your departing train.  
Stop punishing me with pain.  
I need more than rain.  
Don't leave behind the olive wooden tree…"_

_-Oliver Wood- _

"Miss Weasley, what are you doing in the North Tower at this late hour?" asked Dumbledore mildly.

Startled, Ginny gasped to herself at the foot of Oliver's doorstep, pondering whether the Headmaster had become a weightless man with no inertia, because as alert as she was, she swore she could not detect his presence.

"Professor, it's getting really chilly again, so I just want to give Oliver these extra blankets for the night… I don't think he anticipated Hogwarts to be this mighty cold this time of year…" Ginny's tongue stumbled because she just noticed three faint shadows emerging behind Dumbledore along the quiet hollow halls.

"Mrs. Anderson," Dumbledore maneuvered to the oldest of the three. "Please allow me to introduce one of my students. This is Ginny Weasley."

"Hi," greeted Ginny, sticking her hand out from the red bundle in her clutches to wave slightly. Leading the cluster of strangers behind Dumbledore was an older woman who reminded her bizarrely of her own mother, but in a much less imposing way. Although her demeanor was friendly, Ginny refrained from approaching the group, because from the corner of her view, she could spot a small girl staring at her with hostile angular eyes. Even though she was huddled tightly next to a motionless but pale young brown haired petite woman, it appeared it was the woman who was leaning on the child for support.

"I've invited Oliver's neighbors to Hogwarts for a visit," enlightened Dumbledore to Ginny, and a bright zealous light lit up inside her head, immediately figuring out the identities of these people. To her, bringing guests to visit Hogwarts would sound odd on any other occasion. After all, Hogwarts was not a resort hotel, especially with the frigid weather as of late, but judging from everyone's grave faces, it was evident each person currently knew what their purpose clearly was and why they were standing at Oliver's doorstep at this precise moment.

"This is Prudence," Dumbledore gestured to the frozen woman, "and her daughter Zoe."

It was a needless introduction; Ginny already knew who they were because of the conversation with Oliver earlier, but the blank stoic expressions Prudence bore the entire time were seemingly permanent according to Ginny. She was slightly insulted for not being acknowledged by Prudence after Dumbledore's introduction, but it did not take long for Ginny to recognize the scriptures on the woman's pain-ridden face and the reddened eyes that resembled Oliver's and hers from last year so much, and all was automatically forgiven.

"How do you do?" asked Ginny to Prudence.

"What a kind caring girl you are, Miss Weasley, bringing blankets for Oliver like that," smiled Mrs. Anderson out of politeness, seeing that Prudence's lips were trembling but no words were coming out.  
"You are right. It is quite chilly here."

"Oliver and Miss Weasley are like brother and sister," explained Dumbledore clairvoyantly, evidently detecting the misunderstanding brewing inside Zoe's mind about the relationship between Oliver and Ginny.

"But because he is not really her brother, he naturally has no problem matchmaking her with boys. In fact, he had a hand in helping her find that special someone last year, a boy whose jacket she's currently proudly wearing."

As quickly as Ginny's untimely blush that colored her face to the rim, Zoe's glare disarmed itself like a switch. Hoping for the blush to subside in time, Ginny immediately blended herself within the gray walls, a fruitless effort failed by the red blankets and her fiery hair.

"Once again, thank you for entrusting me and agreeing to come with me on such short notice at this time of the night," smiled Dumbledore.

"No need to thank us," sighed Mrs. Anderson. "We understand this is important. So I'll miss a few games of Bridge here and there, but it doesn't matter. I have a wager with my daughter on this one anyway, so I must come along to find out the outcome of the show."

Ginny didn't know what Mrs. Anderson meant with that comment, but now that Zoe's glare disappeared, her eyes were free to roam around, and they found themselves situating directly on a despondent Prudence. Thinking she was still hidden in the background, she bravely followed up with an additional second of observation of her target. After having heard so much about her from Oliver, her curiosity was too tempting to quell, but she was convinced she was only being protective of Oliver, and imagine what he would be like with this woman by his side. Based on memory, a too burly Oliver appeared to command one full head over the tiny Prudence. Ginny couldn't help but giggle out loud, because he could easily be twice her weight too. He might squish her in close quarters if he wasn't careful with his positions. But as Ginny continued on, her mental drawing of a towering chivalrous gallant soldier came to its completion in her head, and she tossed the superficial physical differences away with another giggle; this time was one of satisfaction. Prudence was a good match for her soul mate.

"Prudence, stop your moping," said her mother suddenly, interrupting Ginny's out of place giggles. "We are not attending Oliver's funeral right now."

Prudence poked her head up just enough to glare at her mother with solid black contempt.

"This isn't a Bridge game! Why… didn't you… tell me everything from the start?" she interrogated in suppressed decibels.

It was the first time Ginny heard Prudence's unique alto voice, to which she grinned, understanding that was definitely a voice range Oliver would surely appreciate, after receiving numerous complaints about her apparent sharp voice from him earlier.

"As I said previously, my young days as a witch are irrelevant. My choice to live in the muggle world has nothing to do with–"

"You knew Oliver is a wizard from the beginning! Why didn't you tell me? You think… I would be like… like my father… that… I'm capable of discrimination the way he did against you?"

"Of course not! I raised you better than that. Besides, it is not my place to tell you details about him. It should come from him."

"I nearly filed a police report for missing persons the last time he gone missing!" she retorted in a controlled voice, because she was aware Oliver could be sleeping behind the door that were at now. "You could have at least told me why I need not file one and how you knew he was okay."

"Perhaps I should have explained to you at that point, but… watching you agonize over his apparent disappearance… gave me… a lot of answers… that later would be confirmed…"

Ginny could see Mrs. Anderson furtively flashing her eyes at Zoe's direction. Now that she was no longer staring at her, she had the opportunity to study the child too, and she could see a familiar locket was tucked at her waist. It was the Amoré.

"As I said over and over again, he's only a neighbor. There's nothing between us."

Ginny had to look away to hide her upward rolling eyes. She need not have to even waste a full breath to contemplate why what Prudence said sounded so familiar. It was too obvious. Not only were Oliver and Prudence sharing the same wall of the same floor of the same building in the same city, they were also sharing the identical jar of words of incredible denial. She pondered what else did they share besides this.

"Mum," Zoe gazed at Prudence. "Your eyes are very red."

"I'm okay. Sweetie, I… have a cold, that's all… and… also…

"The needling sharp winds earlier… irritating my eyes…"

"And my perfume… stinks like insect repellent!" Ginny could suddenly hear herself sniff out loud. Without realizing it, she had just repeated monotonously what Oliver had said to her earlier.

"What?" asked Prudence as everyone pulled a reluctant Ginny out from the background.

"Oh," Ginny scratched her head sheepishly, her blush augmenting itself to another level. "Never mind."

Prudence turned to Dumbledore, who was gazing at Oliver's door solemnly for some reason, "Mr… Dumbledore… Sir, I respectfully want you to know… I believe everything you said… I truly do… everything about Oliver and Yuriko… and the book… but I'm afraid… my being here will not help your cause… because… because…"

Prudence fell silent, noting that Dumbledore had not inched for a reply at all.

"Professor, what's wrong?" asked Ginny.

"Oliver's gone…" he muttered with downcast eyes. "He's not inside."

"That's impossible! I walked him to his quarters earlier!" Ginny blurted and pulled the doorknob, but it was jammed.

"UURGH! Lazy bum! He still hasn't fixed the faulty doorknob all this time!"

Dumbledore waved his arm tiredly. As expected, the door drifted open, but its success seemingly deteriorated Dumbledore's expressions even more. Nevertheless, Zoe pulled away from her stoic mother and followed Ginny, who dashed inside and tossed the red blankets, unfortunately, onto an empty bed with no Oliver. All that was left was his favorite pillow on it. The Headmaster was right. He was gone.

"Professor, his broom is not here, and the umbrella…" Ginny's urgent survey was broken up when a strike of lightning illuminated the shadowy skies, its power expanding itself effortlessly inside Oliver's quarters from the open window.

Dumbledore hurriedly ventured inside and headed to the window, apparently more worried about what was happening outside.

"The skies are becoming unstable!" snapped Dumbledore. "They are sounding their alarms! Minerva's spell… must have imposed too much stress on the integrity of the horizons."

"Mr. D… the lightning… How can there be thunder when it's snowing outside?" Zoe squeaked with an unstable strain. She appeared to have adjusted to the magic settings of Hogwarts with ease, unlike her mother, who was being dragged inside by Mrs. Anderson to join the group.

Dumbledore sighed wearily before responding, "It is unusual, isn't it? Thunder is… a symbol of summer, while snow is a symbol of winter. The two of them… are not supposed to coexist together. There is no ambiguity… Like many things, there're some that are just not meant to be together, but…"

"Is thundersnow really possible?" asked Mrs. Anderson, locking her daughter's hand tightly.

"It's a very rare occurrence… a very rare occurrence indeed… as rare as Fantasy's Mirror… but it looks like… tonight… I'm afraid… things are finding their way of managing to beat the odds…"

"It can't be!" doubted Ginny hopefully. "How come I can't hear it? It must be just… regular light."

"Miss Weasley, the snow acts as an acoustic suppressor, diffusing, filtering and softening the rumbling sounds as they travel through the air."

"Oh no! The fairy tale story… isn't this… OH NO! Oily!" Zoe suddenly shrieked in panic and stared at her mother, catching on to the gloomy wavelengths of Dumbledore and Mrs. Anderson.

Ginny's heart had since stopped beating, thinking of the same thing the child was, the fate of Sen befalling on Oliver.

"Zoe, give Oily's locket to your mother now!" demanded Mrs. Anderson.

The girl immediately opened the Amoré and stuffed it hotly in Prudence's shaking hand. To everyone's relief around her, the Amoré's needle was pointing solidly at the window.

"We must go after Oliver now before it's too late!" Dumbledore commanded just as another strike of thunder landed. "Follow the lead of the Amoré!"

aaaa

"What am I… actually seeing?" Oliver asked himself philosophically as he stood with the stubborn barren tree by his side atop the mountain. Mirroring the hollowness of colorless glass were his eyes that had stopped blinking again, despite the needling sharp winds and snow pellets attacking him from all sides.

"Could this be… really true… that in order to see… in oneself… the clearest wishes and desires that are ahead, as well as… the regrets and reflections that resonate from behind, you have to be… a person who is truly at his end?

"Could this be what I'm seeing right now, flashing before my eyes, what is left of me… pieces of me… but for a snapping series of pictures, one after one, striking across the horizons?"

He gazed at the ghostly white umbrella in his hand. It was acting strangely tonight, for the glow was unusually bright, and it was as if it was alive and awake, breathing on its own. His lips quivered slightly, but it was not because of fright. It was merely the result of pebbles of words solidifying in the corners of his eyes, pushing to come out and feathering his lips.

_"Don't leave behind the olive wooden tree…_

_"Don't leave me behind…_

_"Don't leave behind your olive wooden tree…"_

He chuckled despairingly. He couldn't believe what he had just composed. He must definitely be at his end. After all, he was not his usual self. Not only did he cry twice on the same day, but such peculiar uninvited poetry writing skills he bellowed out moments ago seemed a natural fitting accompaniment to the dying moments of a life, like his right now. It was time to go. It felt right. It could not be anything else.

"Do you remember that day, Yuriko?" he murmured to the explosive roaring beast that was the anguish-filled skies as his quivering shadow projected itself onto the trunk of the tree, the bare branches too tired to fend off the mighty winds. "When I introduced myself… to you for the first time outside the elevator… you made fun of my name… and you did… a song about an olive wooden tree…"

The dark skies did not respond to his question. They were too occupied; in fact, they were at their most abnormal state. Colors that could not make up their minds when he was with Ginny earlier were now reacting even more exponentially because of the lightning flares under the unyielding pellets of snow and fog. The combination of lightning and snow merging together was an unspeakable sight he had never experienced before, but he continued to stand, unfazed and unimpressed.

"You once told me… rain is good for me. I never understood why you seriously thought I was a tree at one point.

"Well, even if I am one, you must realize… I need… more… than just rain…"

Oliver had since stopped wiping away the melting ashes of snow on his face. It was not necessary. No one was looking at him, and there were too much of them around him and too overwhelming to resolve anyway. Truthfully, he was soaked through the inside of his clothes now; they had consumed him. In a bizarre manner, the jagged uncontrolled pellets were seemingly now rising up from the ground too, because of the manic winds. He swore he could sense the skies were calling for him with this inverse maneuver. It must be a signal, perhaps a lead for him to take, and fly to the gateway that had been waiting for him all along, he thought to himself.

"As documented in the fairy tale story you left behind, Keiko's father believes Sen was able to join her world after he mysteriously vanished in the massive storm under the celestial white umbrella…"

He gripped the engagement ring tightly as he closed his eyes, "Would I… share the same fate by doing the same thing? I… don't really know."

Another blast of lightning diced through the fiery air, and throaty rumblings ricocheted across the cascading mountain soon after.

"I can't say for certain… can't I?

"What is certain is… I'm not afraid… because…

"I just want to be with you. Whatever it takes.

"I won't be left behind like the last time at the train station… not again… living but abandoned… like this barren tree… alone on this mountain… living… yes… breathing… yes… but…"

He rubbed his chest. It was empty like the many days before. What was stored behind his ribcage was, as usual, the same layer of snow that always was, a persistent blanket of gray dust, covering a wilted and cold silence.

"I could… only hope for tonight… then… that I… we… will become… the timeless fairy tale… to be read by thousands of others… just like the one of Sen and Keiko… for generations to come…

"Yuriko and Oliver… for generations to come…"

He nodded to a decision and reopened his eyes, "I like the sound of that…"

Oliver turned to the tree next to him. Its outline was flickering under the powers of the lightning. It would be the last item he would touch that was anchored to reality. He mounted on his broom and launched himself into the violent airs fearlessly, reaching into the heart of the storm with the umbrella, to become one with the elements.

As he sailed away, his broom lost the instructions for direction that was supposed to come from its glistening rider. Instead, it let itself be guided by the meaningful currents, the snowflakes around him acting like the many eyes of nature, tearfully watching him and his broom resemble a quill inside the trembling hand of a writer, painting his last words on parchment that was the boundless landscape, concluding in a path by carving the final sentence of his story:

"_Yuriko, I'll see you soon…"_

"OLIVER!" a muffled voice cried from below.

"NO!

"OLIVER! COME BACK!" It was Prudence's desperate voice. She was clutching the Amoré, surrounded by the others who followed. But as loud as she was, her words could not latch itself to him; it was too late. As an acoustic suppressor, the snow managed to dissipate her calls for his return, and his blazing trail was increasing the escalating distance between them, accelerated by the winds, separating the worlds apart.

"I'M GOING AFTER HIM!" shouted Ginny confidently, brushing the water off her face as she clawed herself onto her broom. "Prudence, come on! Tell me where the needle--"

"NO! IT'S TOO DANGEROUS!" roared Dumbledore, pushing forward, stretching out both his arms protectively. "Everyone! Stay low to the ground and look for cover! Mind the child! The climax of the storm is coming!"

Dumbledore raised his wand. It was unclear what he was attempting to do, but a gigantic blast of lightning swallowed the entire horizons before he was able to utter the words of a spell, chewing the grounds viciously and all of them fell to their knees. As an additional barrier to their senses, the snow was now crushing everything in its path blindingly in bricks and mortars, aided by the winds, bruising everything into deep shades of profound violet and crimson.

"PROFESSOR? ARE YOU ALL RIGHT? Where are you? I have Zoe with me!" shrieked Ginny from behind, locking herself and the child to the barren tree that was still standing. After that last thundering blast, it appeared the elements around them have instantly calmed down as the mist lifted and their vision restored. As quick as it was, all that was left now was a drizzle of rain as the air grew warmer by the second.

"I'm fine! Where are the others?"

"I'm okay!" Mrs. Anderson stood up and hollered from a few bushes away.

"Bloody hell," Zoe said to Ginny as she stuck her arm out into the air to meet the dancing drizzle, "Things do change quickly around here."

"That sure was hell all right," sighed Ginny.

"PRUDENCE!" Mrs. Anderson yelled, running towards her, after seeing her kneeling shakily on the ground and be the only one that still hadn't confirmed her status. The others quickly followed.

"Prudence, are you hurt?" her mother pleaded, noticing her daughter was reduced to an image of a gray sad statue on the ground, clutching the Amoré but staring at the skies, as the rain framed her face, highlighting her glittering features that had just accepted an unspeakable answer.

Even though no one has yet to fully explain to her of its powers, Prudence had an omen what the Amoré's needle was saying to her now, and she gently closed her hopeless statue eyes. It was her way of acknowledging an ending to a story she was never going to be a part of.

"Prudence… say something…"

"……"

Prudence could feel every crater in the shell of the Amoré tingling inside her fingers, because she was holding it as tight as she could, preciously, knowing it would very well be the one and only item she had that was his in this lifetime.

Dumbledore knew the inevitable answer too. He quietly reached for Prudence's unsteady hand and extended her dithering arm to reveal the Amoré that led them here. The others slowly accumulated around the motionless Prudence. One by one, everyone's faces crumbled, in response to the locket in her hand, the needle spinning faintly without direction inside its golden casing. All sounds seemingly died, except for the gentle tapping sounds of what was natural spring rain, no longer succumbed to the game of time and magic, melodically rinsing away the physical destruction left behind by its former self.


	12. The Mournful Sound Of The Train Whistle

**Chapter 12 The Mournful Sound Of The Train Whistle**  


_Summary: What was left to accompany the rain was but the tinkling of melancholic bells, like glimmers of punctuation marks, chording through the wails of station music from the wavering speakers, and the polyphonies of lyrics sung by the remaining lonesome winds. Dissonant, unresolved, and distant, it was the mournful sound of the train whistle, the low constant pitch vehemently trumpeting its way back to the station where she was. With its rhythms crisscrossing through the dazzling raindrops, the train whistle was determined to escort her one last time, like a final lingering call, resonating gallantly for miles and miles…_

_"Attention all Central--_

_"Attention all Central Station passengers. This is the final call. The last train of this evening will now depart._

_"Attention all Central--_

_"Attention all Central Station passengers. This is the final call. The last train of this evening will now depart…"_

He wiggled his motion sickness eyes open, exhausted, panting, but somewhat relieved to find his dry toes on solid orange floor tiles evenly threaded by fibers of calm gray dust bunnies. All the high-pitched hissing winds that had been shredding him to crumbs were inexplicably nowhere to be found. In its place was now a very familiar and stationary train platform.

For some reason, his ears had been ringing with residuals of Prudence's low alto voice calling for his name seconds ago. It still was. But to him, this was utterly illogical, for she had no knowledge where he was heading, and as a muggle, she would have no means of following him to Hogwarts premises. He quickly discarded this frivolous possibility and focused instead on the abrupt change in surroundings in front of him, starting with the familiar orange floor tiles.

The familiarity was no coincidence. He was here before. It was definitely the same platform he was on, the place that ended it all for him, the juncture when everything inside him died, as he was waiting for her, the girl who had not showed up last year, when day became night, when he stood watching the final train of the night depart with his soul, leaving his lifeless body behind.

It was a reflex motion; his eyes succumbing to gravity and casting down was not unforeseen, given having just cross paths with such a nostalgic piece of memory. This was no different, except this time, he discovered to his saddened surprise as he glanced down, that his hand was holding a piece of recognizable blue parchment, bundled with a picture. It was her goodbye letter, less than ten words from her, and a portrait of the two of them during their happier times.

"Didn't I tear these things and toss them into the train tracks? How can they come back intact?" he mumbled shakily.

It was not necessary for him to focus on the contents of the letter that viciously stole his life. Being less than ten words, he could easily recite them backwards with his eyes closed. Indeed, he closed his eyes. As he had many times before, her hasty words of goodbyes just bubbled out of his lips like a chorus of a lament played in reverse. On a quarter of a breath, it was swift and easy:

"_Yuriko-Goodbye-Me-Forget-Back-Go-Must-I-Oliver…"_

His tongue dried up to become sandpaper, resembling the parchment in his hand when he finished. He could do nothing, except ask himself how such brief and simple words could string together, either forwards and backwards, and still deliver so much damage to a person. Could it be the feeling of pitiful sorrow, as a result of seeing something with so much promise, only to end with a mere letter of less than ten words? Or could it be because the message of her note uttered a life-altering decision made without his input, one that left him with no choice, but to accept an ending to something that was not supposed to end in the first place?

He looked up the wall to search the perfect angle for his head. It was his silly way to roll his pupils upward. In the process, he noticed something was hanging directly over him on the wall, the clock of the train station.

He chuckled sardonically, as luck would position him in the exact shaded spot he once was, under the same crusty stubborn clock like the last time. It was the one with the dithering arms, to which he fruitlessly and foolishly begged to stop for him, the seconds to stop ticking away, in order to give her more time to arrive, but…

"Wait a minute!" he gaped at today's version of the clock with questionable eyes, emotions debating in his stomach in all directions, trying to find west versus east. "The clock's arm! It… stopped!

"Could it truly be? The clock had finally… fulfilled my request? What could this mean? What could all of this mean?" he asked as if there was someone on the platform to answer him.

"Have I… gone back in time or something? Am… I dreaming?

"Or… is it broken? But… then…

"This isn't a memory!" he tapped on the solid wall and the popping vein in his temple. "This is real!

"Why have I returned here?"

At long last, he stabilized himself and asked the key question that matter the most, slowly trooping more at ease with the familiar settings that were also unfamiliar at the same time. With his eyes briskly absorbing the disjointed and untimely details, his ears joined in by alerting themselves to the tinkling melancholic bells, the cries of music from the station speakers, and the minor chords of the lonesome currents whisking through his hair. Everything blended seamlessly with the sound of a train whistle that kept on wailing delicately at regular intervals. As he figured, ahead of him was a train about to depart. Like the previous experience, no one was on the platform to entertain the last train. The platform was empty. It was obvious. There was no point for the train to keep on wailing, because everyone had already reached their destinations.

Suddenly, his feet could sense small vibrations from the orange tiles. His nostrils arose and bloomed to the feathers of an intimate scent as the air temperature behind him began to rise. He recognized the perfume immediately. The reaction was spontaneous, and it slowly pulled him around, to allow a pair of feet to enter his vision.

He was not alone on this platform after all. Someone had been standing behind him. In a heartbeat of wishful thinking, his eyes automatically decided to shut out everything that was immaterial. Instead, they zipped higher to reach their counterparts, only to find them nuzzled behind a thick page of long silky black hair.

In his wildest dreams, he had never figured he would reunite with her in the same place she once abandoned him in. He pinched the back of his hand, realizing this was real. She was real, and smiling too. He was relieved she was all right. But despite the good signs, something was different. Something was missing. He couldn't tabulate. He quickly confirmed her features, and he substantiated her hair against the files in his memories. She looked healthy and radiant, compared to his disheveled state, but he couldn't recognize her. He couldn't return her smile. It was hard to reconcile.

She once said the most beautiful girl is a girl in love. Wanting to check more clearly, he inched closer crisply, but the emotionless mantra of frost behind her smile only became more evident with every step. He was walking towards a stranger.

He ought to celebrate. His legs should be propelling up and down in glee. He should be laughing like he had never laughed before. Surely it was a moment for happiness, but the tinkling melancholic bells, the cries of station music from the wavering speakers, and the minor chords of the lonesome currents would continue to interfere, preventing his dream from playing out perfectly. Like it was always been, all these sad notes dominated seamlessly with the train whistle that kept on wailing delicately at regular intervals. Together, they were now coupled with her nonchalant eyes, chipping away the remains of his energy.

However, he didn't care, and he leaped into her, embracing her as tight as he could, but she felt foreign and unfamiliar. Holding her was like pressing a glass of ice water to the heart. The wailing train whistle sounded two long horns, seemingly trying to steal what was left to cheer for, out of what should have been a wonderful embrace.

Once again, he would shut them out, all of them, all these ominous signs. He would not have any of it. As brash as he was, he would hold his breath too, refusing to take in such heartrending air into his lungs, not knowing this would tire him even more. To him, all these unbearable somber syllables were irrelevant anyway. What was important was that at long last, his arms were finally around her, but he wished he could say the same about hers.

"Come with me… The train's waiting," she said wanly. Her voice sounded dusty, as if it hadn't been used for a very long time.

"Where does… it go? Where will it… take us?" he tried to beam, but with an empty ribcage with no air, his was a crawling voice that was equally heartbreaking.

Without answering, she reached for his hand and steered him inside. The train, as empty as her touch, was waiting for them, allowing them to choose whichever seats they deemed proper, for there were no other passengers inside.

"Please sit down," she guided as he maneuvered to the window and she proceeded to the neighboring seat next to him, mindfully leaving a thin layer of air between herself and him. Although they were sitting side by side, their lips were resting idly, electing for the messages of melancholic bells and station music outside to sparkle and dim, letting them do the dialogue for the two of them.

She gently broke the muted fabric, and pulled the folded parchment out of his hand, gazing hollowly at a piece of document from her previous life.

"It's not your style to keep it so brief," he teased painfully, alluding to her ten-word effort that changed his life forever. "I was expecting… a lot of metaphors… rain references from you… you know… everything about the trees and the leaves… analogies… you used to love…"

"You do deserve better…" she replied kindly. Hearing those words, his eyelids, having bore the weight of abandonment all this time, trembled decidedly lower.

"I should have met you in the train station… and explain. You… deserve that much… but I was… I… a coward… too afraid… selfish… to face you. In the end, this note was all I could come up with."

He said nothing, but inside his head, he couldn't help but agree with her assessment. She should have spoken to him before leaving on her own. He was certain they would have figured out a solution together. But he didn't want her to sense his blaming thoughts menacing his mind, so he tipped his eyes down further.

No one was watching them as they sat reticently, odd for two people that had just reunited successfully after a long period of separation. Only the mystic windows of the train were shining on them, and oddly, they started to mist up in sympathy. As quick as it was, feelings of round glittering pearls began to form on all the glass panes. Too heavy to hang on, the glimmers sparkled down, cursively cascading to the ground, leaving behind beautiful tracks of lingering strands on the faces of the windows.

It was difficult to ignore the effigy of tears being crafted on the windows surrounding them, on top of all the despairing sounds. Nevertheless, he had not forgotten the ring, the last strand of hope in his pocket, but just as he was about to speak, the horn of the motionless train let out a long whistling sound in minor harmonic rhythms, foreboding a signal for last call.

"I've arranged to meet you here… in a similar looking train station. I hope this way… I can do it the right way… and give you the explanation you deserve… give this a proper ending… so you can move on with your life… and stop pursuing something… that had passed… its pinnacle…"

These were supposed to be words he never expected to hear. This was completely opposite to all his dreams. At this juncture, he was supposed to be choking in shock. After all, he had sacrificed everything in order to reunite with her, but surprisingly, he was just as calm as her. He couldn't explain it. Perhaps the sorrowful surroundings had already spoken the inevitable answers he needed to hear, preparing him for the inevitable outcome. Or perhaps going into this, he knew all along this was not to be.

"I should have stopped pursuing you last year, like asking your teammates about you, and leaving you with the book… giving you all these ideas… and… the umbrella in Osaka…"

"You… were there?" he asked with the tone of a friend.

She nodded, "It was raining in bricks and mortars that day in Osaka. You were soaked to the skin…

"You… couldn't see me… but… I could see you…"

"I might not have _seen_ you," he breathed numbly. "But I…

"I _felt_ you…"

She turned away, her hair draping further down her eyes, "I… I didn't want you to get all wet--"

"That's funny," he interrupted, his eyes flickering boyishly. "Back then, you used to… always pull me outside every time it rains. You used to like seeing me all wet."

She quickly disciplined the conversation back, "I shouldn't be leaving objects behind in the wrong world.

"But then again… maybe at the time… the fool of me… I actually wanted you to use it in order to join me…

"I realize my mistakes now, and I am truly sorry."

She got up and wiped the pearls and mist off one of the windows. It was the first time he had a chance to see what was on the other side of the train. The skylines were a deep effervescent horizon dance, a look that rhymed like a poem, with colors of romantic wine, in stark contrast to how he was feeling right now. Through the threads of drifting vapor, he could spot a group of familiar shadows far below, rippling sadly, including an old man with a distinct white beard, wandering away with…

"Prudence?" he barked in astonishment with a sudden surge of energy as he stared at the image from below intensely. "How… and… Dumbledore?"

Moisture was shimmering on the windows again, followed by the same droplets of pearls that would sparkle down, obscuring his vision of the people he left behind, fading in front of his eyes. It was at this instant where he felt like his soul had departed from his body, running away and escaping. Perhaps this was the point where the pain was too much to bear, and he was convinced this was a mechanism for the body to shut itself down and shield the soul from more torment. But something was wrong. It was more than just a switch. The space of time was indeed twisting and bending around him, distorting all his senses. He found his body was not listening to his orders.

"Don't talk. Just close your eyes," she requested in an echo.

He could only watch from afar now. Like an audience member watching a movie in slow-motion, he could see himself close his eyes willingly while sitting comfortably next to her, as if his body was hypnotized.

"I now realize I should have let it end the way it was supposed to… at the train station. That's why I must send you back…"

He wanted to object. He wanted his lips to shout out all the words he could to fight her wishes, but all he could do was stare helplessly at himself, sleeping motionlessly next to her. To add to his shock, he could see his lips were curling to form a smile, as if he was agreeing to her decision.

She nestled her hand into his sleeping hair, "I still remember… I once said to you… love is like raindrops… water drops… like the ones dripping off these windows right now.

"It's not easy to break away. There's always a lingering strand behind each water drop… but…

"I was wrong. It is easy to break free. It has to be, because it is the only way…

"Strong stem tender flower. You are… for sure, as tough as they make them, but your true strength is all the gentle dimensions you possess… like… the many layers of petals of a flower…

"That's why you'll adapt… just like I've adapted…"

The train let out a long mourning whistle, as a prelude that it would soon depart.

Her hand glided softly to his ear. He could see she was twirling him with her fingers. He wanted to seize her hand, but his arm was not listening. Soon after, his earring disappeared mysteriously.

"I finally managed to forget… all those yesterdays with you. But then today, I find myself… sitting beside you again…

"It might take more than a few… tomorrows… for me to forget everything that happened today with you…

"It might…

"But… I'll adapt."

She got up swiftly, "You will… you must… start a new life. You must adapt."

He wanted to light firecrackers under his body to wake himself up so he could follow her out of the train, but it was not to be, and the door would close behind her, separating the two of them. He was impressed to note she managed to walk out of the train without looking back. But it was not like he could tell for certain, for the windows began to mist heavily once more, reducing his vision of her footsteps to a shadowy glow of whiteness on orange floor tiles. One more time, he commanded himself to wake up and ram his way out of the train, but his body continued in its dormant state.

Standing on the platform alone, she arrived at the spot where he once was, under the clock of the station. She was surprised she was not sobbing. Perhaps the contents in her head were indeed purged of him; she had adapted. She did forget about everything she had with him, because her mask of nonchalance held up astoundingly well throughout the ordeal.

She had brought a large packet of facial tissue with her, only to find them unnecessary; she didn't have to use them. That was why she was not afraid to walk the last step, for there was one more thing to do. She had to throw his letter away, one he wrote last year but had no intention of sending. It was her last concluding challenge to her emotionless front.

She bravely retrieved the crumbled piece of parchment from her pocket that was tucked under the large packet of tissues:

_My dear Yuriko:_

_Long time no see. How are you?_

_I haven't forgotten your face, your flowing black hair, your touch, and your perfume. I haven't forgotten our seasons together, our every second, every dewdrop, falling leaf, snowflake, and sunshine that were ours, that just keep replaying in my mind..._

Her eyebrows twitched regrettably, her head shaking into a question mark at the scribbles of deep manic scratches that overlaid the paragraph she had just read.

"And here I am, thinking I am the one with the sentimental poetries and you're the muscle bound git… when in fact… it is… so not true… not true at all…

"You are so much more…

"I wish… you'll let people see that side of you in the future.

"I wish… I had been more like you…"

She resumed her reading, purposely choosing to skip to the sections he desperately wanted to undo. The tips of her long bothersome hair were prickling her eyes as she scrolled down, in addition to the strain from having to make out his words behind his violent scratches, his attempts at erasing his true words from the parchment:

_…it will hurt even more if you were to find me, if we were to see each other again._

_My pain of really wanting to see you but not having to courage to see you, the pain of wishing to see you but not seeing you, not seeing you again, ever again._

_Your little vegetable dumplings, rice paper rolls, I promise, I promise you, I will never forget, never forget, never._

The concluding lines of his letter were becoming very blurry and they were quivering, but she was convinced it was entirely caused by the strain of struggling to weave out the words behind all those emotional scribbles of his. Hampered by his marks of deletions, she had no choice but to slow down her reading speed, one word at a time:

_About the fact that you chose to leave me, I can only say I respect your decision, but I have to tell you, I really did wait for you that day._

_You have to believe me. Please believe me._

_I really did. I truly did, wait for you, that day._

Her fingers trembled slightly, her palm finding their path to the wall, tracing an image of a man's shadow that had warmed the selected bricks here before.

"I know… you did. Of course… I believe you…"

_In the future, when you eventually stop remembering me, remembering us, just toss the letter out the window to the winds, and let the rain wash away the ink, the words, and the memories._

_Goodbye, my Yuriko._

_-- Oliver Wood --_

"You're right. It's time… to do… just that…"

The departing train opened its wings, giving birth to the first cloud of current. The orange floor tiles rumbled, and she readied his letter for its release. Her bangs, strand by strand, lifted away from her eyes as the wings flapped stronger and stronger.

Suddenly, a powerful burst of wind hurled towards her, even though the train had not gathered its speed yet. The sharp gust was aiming for her face, and it tore all her bangs off her eyes, revealing a set of reddened pupils that were now cleared of all obstacles.

With her vision uncovered for the first time, she spotted markings on the rushing train, a handful of large abnormal vivid shapes and patterns on one of the passing windows. She stormed closer to investigate just as it motored for more velocity, to discover that there were some disjointed carvings on the surface of the window, traced diagonally on the cloudy glittering cold mist, next to a burly handprint, with a set of what should be the smudged imprint of his gliding fingers…

"_PLEAs sAY U R HappY : )_

_ CAUs i M if U R"_

The draft strengthened as the train gathered its unforgiving speed. The words were all that she could capture because everything was happening so quickly, reminding her this should also the perfect opportunity for its release to freedom, but instead, her grip on the letter tightened like never before, as each alphabet from his misty message stomped into her eyes.

Perhaps it was innocent, but she found herself yelling and chasing for the train to stop. Perhaps she wanted it to stop just so she could answer his final question, but it knew otherwise, for it continued to race away from her.

Her screams gradually disintegrated into uncontrolled cries as she struggled fruitlessly to imprison what was left of the blazing train that was now just a faraway glimmer of headlights. Ironically, mistaking her command for rain, the skies would follow, draping the horizons and blinding her further.

In the end, her feet would fail her. No matter how hard she tried, wiping away the rain escalating in front of her eyes, it was no use. The image of the train was no more. The orange floor tiles settled down under her knees. In her hand was nothing more than a piece of blank crumbled parchment. Just like what he predicted in his letter, the rain would wash away the ink, his words and their memories.

What was left to accompany the rain was but the tinkling of melancholic bells, like glimmers of punctuation marks, chording through the wails of station music from the wavering speakers, and the polyphonies of lyrics sung by the remaining lonesome winds.

Dissonant, unresolved, and distant, it was the mournful sound of the train whistle, the low constant pitch vehemently trumpeting its way back to the station where she was. With its rhythms crisscrossing through the dazzling raindrops, the train whistle was determined to escort her one last time, like a final lingering call, resonating gallantly for miles and miles…

"_i JU sT nEED to KnoW…"_

"……"

_"Attention all Central–_

_"Attention all Central Station passengers. The last train of this evening has now departed._

_"Attention all Central–_

_"Attention all Central Station passengers. The last train of this evening has now departed…"_

"……"

"I'll… adapt…"


	13. Under The Same White Cloud CONCLUSION

**Chapter 13 We Find Shading Under The Same White Cloud (Conclusion)**

_Summary:__Once in a while, if you get a chance, if you have the time, take a moment and look up into the skies. Find that white cloud, and you'll find me, because on the other side, I'll be looking at the same, thinking of you… thanking you… for the memories…_

The parking lot of the Sand Beige art gallery was empty no more. The bottomless air lifted like a veil, and emerging behind it was a petite woman with a painting in her clutches, standing under the spotlight that was merely a combination of dimly lit street lamps. Each of her footsteps took their turns to fragment the reflections of the dimly lit street lamps on the ground. The tiny shallow ponds of light flickered in pain under the quiet mist, stabilized only by the scent of winds that trailed her path, the feathery sounds of which could not even mask the drum of her own monotone heart, counting slower and fainter into the night.

Prudence was not sure if it was coldness or pain she was feeling right now as a result of the jagged winds, but at least she was holding something in her arms, the painting, tightly and tenderly across her body. It had been a long time since she last held something, or someone, as meaningfully as this. She assumed she had forgotten how to, and she wondered if she was presently executing the act of embracing correctly.

The art competition held at Sand Beige had just concluded. As she had expected, she did not win with her submission. After all, how could an amateur painting like hers be considered first grade, especially after being subjected to frantic additions the night before the competition. The judges must have noticed her new paint strokes that did not dry in time, but she knew she had to make these changes. Adding the images of a man and a woman strolling side by side and disappearing away under the moon gate was important. Indeed, she was merely adding onto the portrait the truth of what she saw on that memorable night of thundersnow in that magical place called Hogwarts.

She insisted that losing the art competition was an outcome she would gladly accept, for she could now keep the portrait for herself, one that was accidentally inspired by a dream of a very special man. What she could not comprehend was why a writer from the Arts section of the Daily Quotidian approached her for a brief interview about her painting earlier this evening, when everyone else was gathered with the winners. In the interview, he accidentally led her to rehash the origins of her inspirations that resulted in the painting, and the presence of a man who belonged to a different world, and his words, that she was desperately trying to forget.

Speaking of the man from a different world, she hadn't visited his flat for the past couple of days. She had no reason to. After all, there was no longer any newspaper at his doorstep for her to deposit inside his flat. She could only ponder whether his subscription had finally expired and ended.

Sadly, some endings are more difficult to swallow than others, such as the one she had to witness the night of the thundersnow. After watching him vanish into the crack of lightning, her lips immediately began their overdrive mandate, inundating people around her with words of strength and logic, busily reassuring them that she had accepted his passing. It was logical. It was rational; the man she loved came from a different world. It was not meant to be. They were not meant to be.

These were exhausting words. Repeating them over and over again was punishing. Like the new paint strokes on her portrait, her lips had now gone dry.

The drive home was uneventful. Accompanying her in the passenger seat was none other than her painting inside a white protective cloth, nesting on two bills of twenty pounds her mother gave her earlier. The monetary gain was the result of a wager between mother and daughter, betting on a very important outcome that was revealed the night of the thundersnow. Despite her mother being a seasoned gambler, she would lose the bet.

For Prudence, it was evident her mother's downfall was because she was too idealistic and optimistic. After all, not all people get to be a part of happy endings. In reality, there are winners and there are losers.

"As least I won the wager…" Prudence shrugged as her foot pressed on the acceleration pedal. She had been to Sand Beige almost on a daily basis, so tonight she could shut her mind from mapping the roads, and most importantly, thinking.

Unsurprisingly, the same street lamps would pass her by like the many nights before, but tonight, they were zooming her by quicker than usual. It was probably because this was the first time she drove on this patch of road at such a late hour. She was the only car, and she was driving faster than usual. The streak of lights was mesmerizing, and the acceleration pedal was recklessly accommodating. She found her foot stepping dangerously into it, and the sound of the engine propelled to its extreme octaves, but her heartbeat continued to grind and stall, unresponsive to the fast paced demand of the surroundings. It was as if it could no longer remember how to race.

She never noticed the extent of her unlawful speed. She only felt like she was symbolically accelerating the speed of her lifespan, perhaps eagerly wanting to reach its end. At the climax, the lamps were like a blurry but beautiful shooting star, humming, gliding, and shrieking…

_"SCREEEEEECH…"_

Prudence stomped on her brakes and the car tumbled to a halt, inches away from a boldly lit red light. It took a minute before the rest of her body caught up with her because of the forward momentum, and her heartbeat sputtered to a halt in the end. The white cloth was tossed to the floor, along with the bills in the twisted fabric wreckage.

Inside the deep night, one street lamp managed to find her frozen body, unknowingly casting her unstable shadow onto the painting beside her. It also highlighted a fresh red gash on her forehead, but it was too cold for her to notice.

"Mum was wrong… I was right," she shivered with a broken voice to the painting that was starting to become blurry, her breath seemingly unaware of her wound. "Just like… the red light, someone has to stop, to make room… for someone else… to let another… to proceed...

"These are the rules… and I have to stop."

And she was, at the intersection, merging herself into the hospitable darkness, patiently waiting for a car to cross in front of her from the adjacent road, but the grey fabric remained still, except for a trail of crisscrossing leaves. There were no cars, and yet the light remained uselessly red.

As the last falling leaf made its way to the other side, the traffic light finally switched green, its opaque reflection bouncing off the glimmers in her ashen eyes. It was her turn now; she could proceed now, but her foot would not let her make that choice. It refused to remove itself from the brakes.

"At least I… won something," she tried to convince her heart to beat, but it was no use. It had stopped beating.

The blood on her forehead had since frozen after a series of reds and greens. With her foot still unable to remove itself from the brakes, crumbling onto the steering wheel was all she could accomplish. It was what she ought to do. It was time to rest. It was time to go.

_"BBBEEEEEEPPP…………………………………….. BBBEEEEEEPPP……"_

The street lamp gradually died, as if it was trying to not call attention to the car and the driver, and the uncontrollable horn that would cry into the night.

aaaaa

Daybreak was still asleep, and so was everything else. Once again, she was waiting for the rest of the world to wake up. She was too early. Being the first one to arrive before sunrise again, she would now have to open the metal gates of the grocery shop on her own, as well as drag the large stack of today's fresh newspapers inside.

"Why am I still carrying this thing around places?" Prudence struggled as she reached for her set of keys, only to find her hand colliding with the Amoré inside the pocket. Even though it was still dark, the casing of the locket still managed to plaster a piece of shine onto the face, and in slow motion, images from the night of the thundersnow would follow her mind in colour and animation, with the final image that was a needle swirling without direction.

It was the reason she hadn't opened it since her return from Hogwarts. But presently, she found her thumb toying with the cover that was the verge of reality.

"Oh, what the heck!" she whipped, opening it without hesitation, expecting to see the same spinning answer.

"……………...…………………………….Prudence…"

She could feel the warmth of light leave her cheeks as the locket flipped open, and to her shock, the needle was pointing solidly to her right. In a daze, she blinked again and again, but the result was the same.

"……………...…………………………….Prudence…"

Her right ear must be malfunctioning, like the Amoré right now, and her eyes as well, because from the windows of the shop, she could spot a tall reflection of a familiar man swimming beside her.

It couldn't be him. This must be someone else, possibly a burglar, or an intruder, wanting to rob the shop. The man she knew had already left her the night of the thundersnow. But how could this familiar voice be able to string her name?

"Pru…" the voice repeated. She couldn't deny it. No male voice other than his has ever addressed her like that. There was no mistake as her eyes followed his voice, and there he was, a dashingly handsome man, and she had to poke her head very high in order to survey the rest of his presence, because he was once again one foot taller than her.

"How… how… are you?" Oliver's jumpy voice trembled in a narrow range. As he stepped towards her, her skin tingled to the sensations of his body temperature, confirming to her he was indeed real, complete with all the burly arms and legs that were his usual accompaniments, albeit missing his earring. Unfortunately, his other accessories were a piece of luggage and the broomstick next to him.

How could he come back after what happened, she blasted to herself. What could she say? What else could she say? It was too early. But it was certainly not too early for her heart; for the first time in a long time, it was racing, actively waging war with her mind.

"Came to buy some groceries?" she garbled incoherently, trying to act nonchalant, too short-circuited to remember the open locket in her hand in full display for him, revealing the truth that resided in her heart.

"I… came… to tell you something," he bit his lip. It was an understatement, as too many words had already accumulated in the corners of his lips, fighting their way out. Many things need to be said, but his eyes were helplessly transfixed at the glow coming from her hand, to the answer that remained unchallenged.

"Teaching overseas again, Oliver? Which city this time?" she asked with surprising lightness. "Lisbon? Shanghai? Kiev--"

"Knock it off! You know I am no bloody teacher!" he chuckled, delighted by her temporary sense of humour, but discomfort quickly took over with his next passage. He could only try to hide it by scratching his head.

"I know… Dumbledore brought you to Hogwarts… to help me. He told you everything about me. You were there when I… you know… the night of the thundersnow. I know you were.

"It must be a bizarre experience for you," he inserted shyly. For a comparatively big man, he found himself too afraid to look directly at her. All he managed to accomplish were lightning glances.

"To have you hear these… strange stories, and meet odd people… like Dumbledore…"

She shook her head, her bangs brandishing to the rhythm of the winds, "They are not strange, Oliver… not at all."

"I… heard you that night, Prudence, your voice… calling for me…"

"It's because I was there, with Mum, and Zoe," she spoke with candour as she diverted the conversation. "Tell me what happened after you left. Feel free… to choose whichever beginning you want… anywhere you want…"

"I… I saw Yuriko that night. I got my wish, I guess. Seeing her was good. We… talked. Actually, she did most of the talking. I just kinda… fell asleep… in the train."

Prudence forced out a childlike smile. She hesitated in asking him to clarify, like what he meant by falling asleep in the train, not knowing whether she was prepared to receive the details of his encounter at this moment.

"Anyway, she told me what I needed to hear… you know… so I can get my sanity and reality back, and here I am now," he brushed his chest, as if he was sweeping dust off a very old statue.

"I think I'm a new person…"

He was right, Prudence thought with relief, examining his clean-shaven chin. He did reclaim his colour and energy to his mane.

"To tell you the truth, I think… my obsession, the entire time… my madness… I merely needed to know that she is doing fine, that she's safe… and happy… living up there," he gestured vaguely into the skies, "or wherever she is…"

He glimpsed at the locket in her hand furtively. It was unnecessary, for Prudence did not seem to mind, letting him see the truth.

"My crazy behaviour this past year… It sounds pathetic, and I can't believe I'm telling you this, but the fact is… I've always thought that… she was… she was all I have… until…

"Until…"

Prudence's heart skipped a beat, but she managed to interrupt him with a wan laugh, "I'm glad she's doing fine. It is a remarkable story, a fairy tale story, one that will live on forever."

Oliver did not look like he was listening. Instead, the vein on his temple could be seen popping.

"Prudence, your forehead…"

She brushed her hand against the small bandage, "It's nothing. A scratch. A small accident I had some nights ago…"

She diverted the conversation away from her again, "You said you have to tell me something."

"Yes, I came by… to ask you…" he cast his eyes at the locket.

"Oh," she automatically snapped it shut and placed it into his hand.

"No, this is not why I came."

"Er," she paused for a second, her mind spinning to find what she still had that was his.

"Right! Your keys!" she dragged her twisted key chain out of her pocket, but he shook his head.

"Pru, I came by… to tell you…" he approached delicately, his thumb rubbing the fine lines of the amulet. "I spoke… to my team…"

"Quidditch team…" she added smartly, her eyes anchored strongly in determined fashion.

Oliver smiled, impressed she had retained these details, "Yes, my team… they want to reinstate me back. They still want me to play for them."

"That's good news. You'll go back to doing what you love. I've heard Quidditch is your passion! So you're leaving now?" she rushed, wondering why she sounded more excited about this than he was.

"Actually, next season starts in mid-summer," he lamented with a submerged pitch. "It's late March now, so… I'm… I…"

His voice trailed to a boyish mumble, and the winds quiet down to adapt to his sudden loss in volume, "Dumbledore said… he would like me to… return to Hogwarts to help him train his students for the time being… So I'm heading there until the next Quidditch season starts. I'll… catch the next train, if I'm early, but…"

The pillars that anchored Prudence's eyes inadvertently collapsed. Bizarrely, she noticed Oliver's feet, as well as her own heels, were drilling into the pavement, as if they were planting them deeply into the cement.

"Prudence, I just want to know if… if…"

"……"

She couldn't respond, because she found herself short of breath, for a very large mass of oxygen had just vanished into Oliver's open mouth.

"I was thinking of… turning down Dumbledore's request," he could hear himself speak as daringly as he possibly could. As brash as he believed he was, the Amoré in his hand would greatly disagree, for it was gelled with the thickest sweat from his nervous cold palm.

"……"

"I can stay in London… if you… want me to," he quivered softly, his toes nibbling closer to her tiny frame, achieving a distance never accomplished before for them.

She dislodged her feet and moved back a step, pretending to not have heard him.

"Oliver… your earring?" she diverted the conversation for the third time.

"Yeah… I don't know what happened. It just vanished after I came back. I think… I'm gonna get it pierced again."

"No! Don't!" she shot at him like a teacher disciplining a student.

Whatever air that occupied the space between them stood still, anxiously watching for their next move with the rest of nature's elements. Thinking he was not clear enough, Oliver heated up his words decidedly further, "Is it no, you don't want me to get my ear pierced again? Or is it no, you… don't… want me to go?"

Perhaps this was a dream, a fantasy, she thought to herself. Maybe she was still in bed. This was too good to be true. Not only did he come back to her, he was also saying all the right things. She pinched her own hand, but nothing happened. It did not wake her up and transport her back to her bedroom. But of all people, it would be her who would truly understand that fantasies are not real, as much as she wanted it to be. After all, he was a man from a different world, and they have no future together. For the sake of its participants, she must terminate this fantasy.

"Oliver, I was… in Hogwarts castle the night of the thundersnow, with Headmaster Dumbledore and your friend, Ginny Weasley. I never imagined you're part of such a beautiful and enchanting place," she reminisced.

"I learned a lot… about your magical world that day."

She giggled ruefully, "It was my first time I rode on a magic broom. Ginny is very good. On our way to the mountain that night, she made sure… I hung on even though I was like an oversized bag of brittle disjointed sticks."

"Did you like it?" he zapped energetically. "I… can take you up for a ride now!"

"No, I don't want you to be late for the train to Hogwarts," she replied with whatever strength she had. Oliver's face immediately deflated, understanding her indirect but punctuating answer to his question.

"After… seeing you disappear into the stormy skies… your Headmaster asked us to stay for a few days. He showed me pictures of you. He told me all of your achievements, and Ginny… she was always around with us, and she would elaborate on why Quidditch is the best sport in the world, and how good and competitive you are."

She gazed at him proudly, "You did everything the right way your whole life. I could tell you were a popular pupil. You were captain when you were a student, and you won the House Cup in your final year of studies.

"And you would move on to play professionally after you graduate, in a sport that is very important in the wizardry world I understand. You are a true sports star…

"Even my mother is a fan of the sport, silly woman."

She looked away, "Here I was, so gullible… admiring from the bedroom window all this time, fantasizing about… a cute shy chap… believing he was teaching English overseas, assuming he was struggling to scrape for a living. And at night… painting my imagination of him as a regular boy... madly in love with..."

She interrupted her words with a low giggle, "The fool of me. It turned out I fell in love… with a boy that wasn't even real."

"I'm sorry I never told you the truth about me, but--"

Prudence pressed her hand to his lips, "I am… so impressed by you, Oliver Wood, all your accomplishments.

"You and I… we are so different. I studied in regular school, and I did everything wrong. The only achievement I was famous for was how I got myself in trouble, and before I knew it, I transformed into a teenage mum.

"All these years… to support myself and my daughter, I would work here, scraping for a living, and at night… foolishly dreaming I'll someday be an accomplished artist…

"Oliver, I know who I am, and I know who you are now. We are totally different people, just like Yuriko and you come from different worlds, you and I… in many ways… we too come from different worlds…

"My life is here. I have no choice, but you…

"A single guy like you… dashingly and devilishly handsome I might add… with absolute freedom… no attachments and so many possibilities," she cheered heavily, finally removing her hand from his lips, "you have so much going for you, places to go and visit.

"See the cloud up there?" it was her turn to point vaguely into the skies. "You can fly higher than the limits of the clouds up there.

"You don't owe me anything, Oliver," she stated affirmatively, hoping this would stop him from worrying and lingering about her. "My foolishnesses are my own, and I'll deal with it. You have no obligation with me or anyone."

There was no obstacle in front of Oliver's lips now, but he found himself unable to speak as Prudence continued, her words, as adamant as a stream of pebbles.

"I equate people to clouds. They come… arrive… as beautiful as they are, like the one above us now, but eventually… it will leave… to search for his destiny…

"It's like each one of us has our own unique path.

"Don't let the clouds in the skies to be the limit to your horizons, Oliver. Keep flying… higher and farther. Promise me. Don't let anyone hold you back. Your team expects greatness from you. Yuriko expects greatness from you. I expect greatness from you."

Every fibre in Oliver's body was motionless, except the one that controlled his finger, twitching to snap open the locket to reveal an answer he had once run away from.

"No, you'll just… complicate things," she closed her hand around his, sensing what he was about to do. "You know… I'm right about this."

"How… do you know?" he attempted to reach her hand with his other, but it was too late; she had slipped away.

"I just do," she smiled with peaceful satisfaction.

"Goodbye, Oliver Wood," she hugged him and nudged him along. "Hurry, please… before you miss the train."

"Can I… buy a paper before I go?" he delayed his steps unnaturally.

"It's on the house," she grinned and handed one to him, happy to know that thus far, the ending she was putting together was not as difficult as she originally had thought, but perhaps, she had formed her conclusion prematurely, for Oliver still had not left. Instead, he was as close to her as ever. The ending was far from over.

"Can I…" he slowly extended his arm towards her with a pain ridden face, his hand solemnly making its way to her injured forehead as the air granted him an unobstructed path.

"Does it… hurt?" he asked gently. Without her permission, he would initiate a sparkling touch that was seemingly timeless and privileged, separated by the thin layer that was a small bandage.

All of nature's eyes chose to look away, in order to give them some privacy, transporting them to a time frame inside unlimited borders that was all their own.

"Just a little," she replied with invisible tears as she closed her eyes. "Just… a little."

It was not known how long they stood like this, because nothing was available to witness their final intimate goodbye, but when she reopened her eyes, they would watch him calmly turn and slowly head away with his suitcase. She was convinced it was the right thing to do to send him away, but her eyes were not, for they were now mixed with both sadness and joy, the precursor for the redness that followed.

As she stood, she would not know how to tell her story and where to begin if anyone were to ask. All she could do was ponder why for a tall man, he was walking with such tiny little steps, when she specifically asked him to hurry up so he could catch the train.

Seconds became minutes before his image would succumb to the erosion of distance in her eyes. Knowing it would be too much to see him fully disappear, she chose to shield her eyes before the image of him would completely fizzle away. She couldn't comprehend, but the topic of Hogwarts weather would inexplicably invade her mind as she waited for the sunrise, its unpredictability, from thundersnow to dancing rain in the blink of an eye. Unconsciously, her protective instincts swept over her. It suddenly occurred to her that he was not adequately dressed, because there would be nothing but bitter snow to keep him company in his destination. And judging from her visit, the North Tower of Hogwarts castle was comparatively much colder than the apartment building the two of them lived in. How could he sleep comfortably in such a ghostly environment? And what about all the eerie squeaks and haunting echoes…

She could hear herself swallow a deep breath to halt her spinning and worrying mind. She shifted her eyes to the skies, knowing that all she could do now was hope the weather, and everything else, would simply be kind to Oliver. Curiously, the mellow white blanket was still there. Presently, not only was it hovering over her, it had now stretched itself to reach him as well, that the opposite end would reach Oliver, who had stopped his departing footsteps and was also gazing at it, intrigued by its slender shape as well. The two of them, standing underneath it, couldn't help but wonder if binding them together would forever be just a long mellow cloud.

_"Prudence, once in a while, if you get a chance, if you have the time, take a moment and look up into the skies. Find that white cloud, and you'll find me… because…"_

_"… because… on the other side, I'll be looking at the same white cloud, thinking of you…thanking you… for the memories… Take care and goodbye, Oliver…"_

Prudence's eyes must be malfunctioning again, teasing her with silly imaginations. Looking at the white mass, she thought she could see Oliver's reflection grinning at him. Examining it more closely however, Oliver's grin turned out to be the rim of the newborn sun. Daybreak had finally arrived.

_"You came to me like a pure white cloud, like a beautiful art of creation on nature's canvas. But your future awaits you now, and just like this, you will have to drift away…"_

Unbeknownst to her, the mischievous cloud was also misbehaving on Oliver's side, as a handful of raindrops began to shower on his temple, just enough for him to seek cover. As he rummaged through the newspaper in his grip to cover himself, a snapshot of a painting in the Arts section caught his attention, leading him to explore the caption and quotes underneath it:

_"…Cream tomato soup skyline. The mountains can be interpreted to resemble dark chocolate pudding. The cotton clouds were inspired by simple potatoes, and the sun was like the egg in an everyday salad…"_

He need not reread the unsophisticated quotes again as he raised one of his eyebrows in disbelief. How could he forget his very own silly words uttered by him one night at Prudence's dinner table? His stomach remembered them too, for it was growling, recalling the many meals he had with her. He now knew what to do. A broad smile appeared on his face as he snapped the Amoré open, and he was happy to know that Yuriko was right. A new life might have just started for him, and it appeared hopeful, judging by the brightness of the locket's shell.

Prudence pulled her eyes away from the illuminating sunrise as she was distracted by an even stronger glimmer sparkling ahead of her, only to find Oliver still within her visual range, although very small, standing directly at the opposite end of the cloud.

With the help of the newborn sun, peeking jubilantly behind the cotton cloud, the white starry sparkles continued to twinkle delightedly from Oliver's direction. No amount of distance and differences could interfere. Even though the shine was young and in its infancy, it was bursting with life despite the distance, and it was energetic enough to butter a glorious piece of morning spring sunlight on Prudence's glistening cheeks.

_"People might drift away like the pure white cloud, but I realize now, a piece of you will always quiver inside me. Whenever you're ready, I will be back, no matter what happens. Take care and goodbye, Prudence…"_

_The End._


End file.
